


Fallen Angels

by LaMarwy



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/F, Romance, What-If, detour from the original plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-26 00:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMarwy/pseuds/LaMarwy
Summary: "There's a whole life ahead of us."Charlotte gave her a weary smile. She waited for Isabella to be gone to heave a sigh. "If only that were true." She whispered in the darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer 1: the story is set in season two but has some elements from season three  
Disclaimer 2: English is not my first language and the story is un-betaed. Be merciful and please leave a comment! Enjoy!

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 1

Isabella let the brush slid on her hair for the thousandth time, her lock perfectly untangled and already silky at the touch. It was an automatic gesture, soothing in a way, as it always anticipated bedtime, but she would often ask herself why she would define it soothing since her dreams were never so.

Her eyes fixed on the silvery surface of the mirror, only fogged on the corners by time and, for a moment, she mused the reflection inside. That woman was staring right back at her, her piercing, blue eyes were unforgiving as she contemplated the hollowness of her life and days to come; everything was the same: the fright of having her brother near, the parties which didn't bring any joy nor distraction, and the grand sham of having Sophia in the same house, keeping the hard truth from her because she was trying to save her and protect her from scandal and a life of rejection. Isabella hardly looked like her old self.

If it weren't for Charlotte, what would be the meaning of life? She had been her knight with the shiny armor who broke the spell of the evil sorcerer, awaken from her deep sleep and thrown her mercilessly into a new world of waiting and expectancy, where every breath drawn without her near was pure agony. Had it been evil, from Charlotte, to make her feel alive again? Then again, the numbness of her old world was really safer than this one?

Isabella sighed heavily, putting down her brush with a soft thud. She waited there for a long minute, time never passing and, then, running out all at once when she heard some faint steps coming near.

She frowned, wondering if it could be Sophia, coming to her room to seek for comfort, but then she realized that her daughter was not a child anymore, and the joy of motherhood had been denied to her forever. Then it was her brother, coming to tease her about something, threaten her, perhaps, toy with her just to feel powerful and gloat.

Yes, those steps did belong to Harcourt, yet he wasn't alone. It was rare for him to bring a harlot home and it was even stranger that he was coming to her.

So Isabella stood there, perched on the chair of her vanity, in wait.

When the door finally flung open, Isabella hardly contained a gasp of surprise when Harcourt appeared, pushing Charlotte Wells on her back, roughly, forcing her to make a pitiful entrance to her rooms as she stumbled forward due to the loss of balance.

"Good evening, my dear." He greeted gleefully, not even trying to apologize for having barged inside her room in the middle of the night when his sister was getting ready to sleep, hence only in her nightgown. He acted like he own the place and everything within it and she hated him for it.

Isabella stared in confusion, unable to do anything, let alone speak. Charlotte looked tired, desperate, her eyes rimmed in red as if she had just cried and circled in black halos for sleep deprivation. Her hair dishevelled, her lips pallid and somewhat sunken cheeks, she was just the shadow of the lively girl that had saved her from her shameful destiny. Whatever happened to that bold woman ready to take her mother's place as the mistress of the bawdy house? Charlotte looked like she'd aged ten years overnight.

Isabella's heart silently shattered.  
"What's the meaning of it, Harcourt?" She managed to ask with a surprisingly unfaltering voice.

He bent his lips into a smirk, faking hurt and astonishment.  
"Why, can't a brother treats his own sister from time to time?" The man asked with a sneering voice, making him sound like nothing but a serpent to both Charlotte and Isabella's ears. "Since it appears we both fancy Miss Wells, I bought her for you."

"Bought?" Isabella repeated, blinking rapidly as she tried to shake some sense into those words. The more she strived to, the eviller he became.

"She's all yours during the day," He said with a braggy tone, then paused, throwing a rather eloquent glance over Charlotte as he raised his eyebrows with a small, almost invisible movement "but mine at night."

Isabella couldn't help herself and looked at Charlotte, wondering why or how could she accepted such deal. If she wasn't acting like a fury, kicking and screaming, ready to throw herself out of the window if only to set herself free, then he must've had her in his horrid grasp, somehow.

"Well," He smirked, rubbing his hands together, clearly proud of his deeds. "I'll leave you two pixies to talk and rejoice your future staying under the same roof."

***

Charlotte flinched when Harcourt slid out of the room, closing the door a little harsher than needed. They both waited for a click of a key turned into in the lock which never arrived.

Isabella watched the woman in front of her with something she thought she could never feel for her: pity. She felt sorry for her, cursing whatever fate had led Charlotte Wells to be a slave in the house of Blayne; maybe she even resented her, for it seemed she'd let her brave and fighting soul surrender, eventually.

Isabella who had always consider herself the damsel in distress, in need of help and protection, was now facing another reality in which her savior needed to be saved.  
And it pained her, beyond imagination, to see Charlotte almost folding up onto herself, hiding from her miserable state in shame.

Isabella left her chair and walked firmly toward Charlotte. There was something invisible cloaking her figure, something that made her unreachable, the flame burning inside her body somehow fully extinguished.

Charlotte lifted her chin and, for a moment, a spark of pride and conflict flashed through her watery pupils, but it was immediately suppressed like the flame of a candle in the wind.

"What are you doing here?" Isabella asked, her velvety voice working as a balm on the woman's troubled spirit.

"I had no choice." Was the only answer she got, her voice cracking and hoarse from a restrained sob.

Isabella tentatively reached out to touch her shoulder and the invisible shield burst up like a bubble of soap. Her skin was cold under her fingers, the bones of her collar protruding more than usual under the thin fabric of her dress, which was torn and creased.

"What happened?" The lady asked, trying to mask her worry, but failing.

Charlotte drew a shaky breath before wiping some moisture off her cheeks and upper lips.  
"After Ma was hanged, I struggled." She confessed, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. "Dame Death tried everything to bring me down." She spat, hatred pouring out from every pore. "She sent men to burn our house while Nancy and lil Kitty were in, they kill and threaten my gals, poison our food supply – I have no money left." Her voice died in her throat, her mind wandering on the previous nights, at the infamous encounters with the loan sharks to which she had to submit. The worst of them had claimed her and she'd said _yes_ out of desperation, but it felt like cheating nonetheless; Charlotte couldn't tell her. She felt dirty and ashamed because it had brought nothing but more troubles, more debts to pay, and now she was there, facing perhaps the worst fate thinkable.

"What is my brother's part in all this?" Isabella frowned, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug, pretending that everything would be fine, after.

"He came tonight, promised to put some of his men guard the house and-" Her voice faltered and her eyes closed. She swallowed as if she was pushing the words out of her throat. "and he offered money for me. A lot of money. I had no choice."

"Why didn't you ask for my help?"

Charlotte threw her an icy glare, looking at her with a passing despise of her naivety.  
"Are you hearing me or not?" She spat, jerking away to avoid her touch as if it burned. "He came to me _tonight_. I had no time to think, let alone refuse and wait for better." Charlotte covered her face with her hand, breathing hard into her palms. Her chest rising and falling fast into the corset's grasp. She was already regretting her harsh words, even though Isabella seemed not to have registered them. "Besides, you've already done enough. I couldn't ask you for more."

Isabella sighed at the realization that those words bore only half the truth: she did not do enough, she did nothing, in fact. And even if she could've done something, Harcourt still held the strings of her purse. "I'll give you jewels," She said in haste, eyeing everything shiny that was still laying on the vanity, while her head tried to remember other precious stones or necklaces or earrings hidden into their velvet boxes. "and all the money I have left. Refuse him, you don't need Harcourt's welfare."

"Isabella," Charlotte tried, her head tilted to the side and her glance disenchanted, immune by any of the things she'd just said.

"Leave, now." The other woman ordered. Her voice cracked and her eyes shimmered. Charlotte felt a pinch to her heart at the realization that she wasn't accustomed to giving orders, let alone contradict her brother in such a blatant show of rebellion. "Return to your family. I will send you everything I own in the morning."

Charlotte interrupted her with a sorrowful shake of her head. Her shivering hands moved in rapid movements to match their owner's frantic state until each found a perfect resting spot on Isabella's cheeks. She let out a peel of laughter as a lonely tear streamed down her cheekbone, smearing with the moisture it found there.

"I cannot leave." She said slowly as if she was talking to a child. Beautifully ingenuous, so innocent despite the horrific world she was living in. "His men are there. He'll hurt 'em, Lucy and Pa and Jacob and the gals, I cannot leave and put 'em in danger."

Isabella stared, unable to do anything much. She finally understood and hated the perfect trap his brother had set up for all of them, to have Charlotte and his sister within his hold, both of them forced to talk sweetly to him and allow him everything he desired and thank him for whatever he wanted to be thanked for. How much time had to pass before they would be strong enough to fend back? All the time in the world would be sufficient to be safe? And in the meanwhile, how much did they have to endure, how could she stay there and lay in her bed, knowing that just in another room her brother was taking Charlotte, playing with her like the toy she was for him? The mere thought of her impotency was torture and made her feel sick.

Isabella hardly suppressed a frustrated gasp as she walked away from Charlotte, pacing nervously around the bed. Her hands started to itch and there was a burning force building from within. Harcourt had planned it all: he didn't only intend to have a personal harlot, and the thought of him being kind hadn't crossed her mind for a second… he took pleasure in hurting his own sister, robbing her of every little joy she had in her hollow life and make it his in the vilest ways. She wasn't his property, was she?

Isabella spun on her heels and her glance was as firm as ever as she looked at Charlotte, still desperate despite having accepted her fate.

"You won't lay with him." Isabella declared.

Charlotte smiled shyly at her. Was it pity again, the thing that flashed in her eyes, or was it something else? The woman who wasn't accustomed to giving orders was dispensing them without restraints, with the stubborn manner of a child who's still learning about the world of people more powerful than him.

Charlotte drew in a shaky breath, stepping closer to the other woman, trying so hard to be strong for both of them.  
After all, she was only doing what it needed to be done, the same thing as everyday since she was twelve: selling her body in exchange for money, to save her family and survive in a cruel world, nothing new, everything like always. Isabella just needed to understand and accept that her mind couldn't be bought and not even her heart, especially when it belonged to someone.

"I must." She said, holding her elbows as she closed the distance with her. "He has all of us in his palm. Don' y'get it? He's my Lord and Master now, even without a contract, and my job is to satisfy him."

Isabella stared with a determined look on her face.  
The frightened woman Charlotte saved barely two weeks ago had bloomed into a fearless fighter, ready to fend anyone who threatened her people. "I won't have it," She hissed. "not while I draw breath."

Charlotte smiled through a sob. She cupped her face fondly, willing to quench her wrath, this time, since it was no use. "What will y'do, ay?" She whispered, so close to her lips with her own that, for a moment, their breaths mingled together. "Smash his head? You've got no power over him."

Isabella pulled away slightly, just enough to watch her in her eyes. Charlotte feared her glare for a moment and cursed her own words since the woman had taken them as nothing less than a challenge; one that, perhaps, she couldn't win.

"Watch me. When he'll come for you, I will be ready."

Charlotte sighed, unable to talk her down, willing to let her bask in her feeling of power and profound hope that still kept her heart beating. She was almost adorable, the poor thing, thinking she could overcome her brother's wrath and power. What could she do? Words weren't enough. As for strength, they hadn't any. He was stronger, he had the money, his men were in Greek Street. Harcourt held the lives of them both and their kins in his filthy hands.

Their foreheads pressed together, basking in the stillness of the dark room, only lightened by the flickering flames of candles, Charlotte whispered Isabella's name as if it was a spell breaking as if the sound of it could take them both into another realm of peace where nothing could hurt them. But it was all a dream, one that lasted a spare second.

The door flung open once again and Harcourt, a new jacket on his shoulders, smirked at them with a sleek grimace, enjoying the view of the two women holding onto each other with such abandon.

Charlotte tensed immediately and Isabella faced her brother, standing beside the other woman, grabbing her arm, determined not to let her go.

"Are you ready?" Harcourt's voice was as velvety as his sister's but not nearly as sweet and fair as hers.

Charlotte hesitated. It was her job and yet something was keeping her from fulfill her duties. Was it the thought of him grinding over her or was it the thought of betraying Isabella under her own roof that was shredding her heart?

"Stop this nonsense, Harcourt." Isabella hissed, stepping between him and the object of his desire, shielding Charlotte with her own body.

Harcourt scoffed, an amused smirk crooking his thin lips. "I'm sure Miss Wells is eager to follow me to my chambers." He said confidently.

Charlotte swallowed. The last thing she wanted was for him to hurt Isabella, now, or put her in some unsafe position. She offered an apologetic smile to her as she tried to pass her, helplessly walking toward the door and, inevitably, the master of the house.

She managed just a step before Isabella's hand tightened around her arm, almost painfully as her nails dug desperately into the woman's flesh. "Harcourt, I warn you."

Harcourt tilted his head, a faint, unimpressed smirk creeping on his face as soon as he heard Isabella's voice cutting the quietness that had fallen upon them. He laughed again, louder now.  
"_You_ warn _me_? Step aside, Isabella, don't embarrass yourself."

Time seemed to have stopped moving. Angered by their stillness combined, Harcourt jumped forward. Isabella stared, helplessly, unable to react when she was pushed aside roughly and awake on the exact moment in which she collided with the hard surface of her vanity. She pushed herself up with shaky arms, fighting the unpleasant pulsing of her head, where she hit the edge of the table. She turned in haste, anger building from inside of her at the sight of Harcourt clutching Charlotte's wrist, yanking her harshly to him.

The woman, startled by the unforeseen event, was instinctively pulling away, helplessly.

Something triggered into Isabella's head. For all the times she had wished she'd punched his brother, for all the times she'd wished she had fought him back, she snatched the candelabra off the nearby table and, completely untroubled by the hot wax dripping on her the back of her hand, she reeled her arm back, only to launch it forward an instant later, with all the strength she could manage and hit him on the back of his head.

Harcourt stumbled, his eyes suddenly fogged and lids falling like all his body which, as lifeless, dropped to the ground with a loud thud, cushioned partially by the carpet.

Isabella stood still, her eyes wide in shock at the sight of her unconscious brother laying on the floor by her hand. Her heart was hammering in her chest and yet she wasn't afraid of the possibility of having just become a murderer, the only thing she was concerned about, was Charlotte's safety. Whatever deeds she'd done, it had been performed to save her.

Charlotte breathed hard, snatching the candelabra out of the lady's hand in fear she might drop it and set the whole room on fire. Harcourt seemed to be breathing – no harm was done and yet, what about her, when he would wake up, sore in his body and pride?

"Isabella!" She cried out, hot tears of desperation falling freely on her cheeks without her being able or willing to stop them. If she was in troubles before, now she was even in bigger ones. "What have you done?" Charlotte covered her face once again, her own heart thumping painfully within her ribcage. The blame would fall on her – she couldn't let Isabella to dirty her hands – and she also knew the punishment for attacking a lord. Charlotte swallowed hard, her heart laughing bitterly at the thought of really following her mother's footsteps, facing the same destiny and ungrateful end. But she couldn't dwell on the thought for too long, for all her attention diverted on Isabella.

The woman was still unmoving, staring blankly at her brother. She'd never seen her so frightened before – angry, yes, lost that too, but frightened to the point of not moving, never.

"Isabella?" She called. "Forgive me." She mumbled in guilt. It was unfair from her to scold someone who had just save her from some obscure fate.

Yet Isabella wasn't offended: she was terrified.  
"He'll lock me into Bedlam and throw away the key." She whispered with an emotionless voice, her eyes unblinking.

Charlotte straightened her back, and started to pace around the bed, cursing her brain for it wouldn't function fast enough; danger was hovering above their heads like the most implacable of swords. She wasn't really thinking about herself though, nor about her family, rather Isabella herself because what would become of her? She was right: her brother would lock her into the asylum and leave her there to rot.

"No." She suddenly said with a hoarse voice, loud enough, however, for Isabella to snap out of her transfixed state and look up at her with hope flickering in her eyes. "He won't lock you away and perhaps I can spare myself a trip to the jail."

***

When the police arrived, less than an hour later, Harcourt was tied up to Isabella's bed with a scarf – multiple scarves – to restrain him and he was kicking and screaming like a wild beast. Neither Charlotte nor Isabella felt sorry for him because that behavior only added credibility to their statements.

"He was unprovoked." Isabella said, sobbing and crying. Charlotte always thought she was good at acting when a mediocre cull wanted to be praised, but Lady Fitzwilliam was just as good as she. Isabella was playing the part of the shocked and devastated sister to perfection.  
Charlotte remained silent but made sure that the two men in uniform could take a look at her torn dress and disheveled hair, as well at the deep crease of her bosom, even more luscious due to the lack of fabric there, which was too thorn and hanging to her side.

"We were just playing cards." Said Isabella, curling up on her herself as she tried to shield her body with her robe. It didn't matter that there were no cards around, nor that they were in her bedroom rather than a parlor or a more suitable room, and neither that she was in her nightwear while Charlotte in her daily dress. None of that matter if not Lady Fitzwilliam's word. "It's not the first time he tries to assault my friends, he seems to fancy Miss Wells in particular. Tonight, it's like he's been possessed by a beast."

"It's true." Charlotte confirmed with a condescending nod. "He's dangerous."

"And lustful." Isabella added with a pained sigh. Then, her eyes turned icy cold and firm, a glance to which neither of the policemen could reply. She was in power now, she had to strike before him, and she had to strike good. "I want him in Bedlam until he's cured."


	2. Chapter 2

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 2

Charlotte was standing at the bawd house door with Will stubbornly watching the area by her side. They were both smiling at little Jacob as he chased the birds in the streets, enjoying the few moments in which he could be the child he was. He wasn’t coping well with Margaret’s departure and the news that she hadn’t been truly hanged, but just shipped to the colonies, hadn’t quenched the sorrow in his little heart.

“Leaves are about to fall down.” Will said softly, and yet his voice echoed through Charlotte’s bones. “We should start stock up some coal.”

Charlotte sighed heavily, her eyes instinctively looking up at the blue sky above. It was cloudless, the sun was bright and yet its warmth had ceased to heat up her skin. She barely registered her father’s words and pushed the information back in her head, so she could deal with it later; after all, they weren’t penniless anymore: now that she had completely access to her money, Lady Fitz supplied the house as much as she could and food and rents or any additional purchases were made thanks to the generosity of the heiress of Blayne.

It had been a relief to know that she’d gone to France with her daughter for a while, and she would’ve stayed there until the heat had died down. Isabella had said that she would’ve been back in no time to pick up where they left off, and Charlotte had promised, while kissing her palm, to wait for her in Greek Street.

But the promises of a harlot were empty ones.

With the city and business becoming harsher and more brutal each day, she’d found herself drowning inside the expanding waters of rivalry and schemers and, in the end, Charlotte had been forced to give herself up to satisfy the load sharks’ demands. It was something that not even Lady Fitz couldn’t fix with money, for those rats sought for a warmer and tastier dough.

“Let’s go back inside.” Charlotte frowned deeply in the exact moment in which she realized that her resistance had been easily overcome and Will was dragging her through the door with minimal effort.

She felt like she would wake up multiple times a day, lately. Her mind was grasped in a perpetual swirl of worries and plans: she thought about Ma, alone in the colonies and with a silent laughter she wondered what was she up to in order to come back to them, she thought about the rent and her girls and about Lydia Quigley always lurking in the dark and about the Marquess of Blayne locked up in Bedlam, fearing he might come out any time, but most of all, she thought of Isabella, in France with her daughter, with nothing but letters to testify her well being; if only Charlotte knew how to read and write properly, things would’ve been easier, at least on that front.

“How're things outside?” Asked Nancy from one end of the table, her faithful rod held as if it was a walking stick in her hand, pitched on the floor. One of her boot was resting on an empty chair and she was laying back on her own, supervising the whole room with just her presence.

“Same as always.” Charlotte sighed, letting herself fall on the nearest chair. In less than an hour, culls would’ve started to pour from the door, with no particular order, with no particular pretenses if not the usual ones.

Fanny and Kitty were having their breakfast from the same bowl, the infant only tasting and making faces over the new flavor and texture of her first solid food.

Charlotte didn’t fancy the idea of having children in a house like that, she knew what it meant to grow up like that, and her sister Lucy too and Jacob, now – though he knew it would be different for him – and yet she had to admit that little Kitty was a sweet distraction from everything gloom outside.

Charlotte grabbed a piece of fresh bread, roughly tore in half by her sister, and started to nibble on it, patiently waiting for Lucy to have done with the newspaper. What a waste of Ma’s money, since her schooling hadn’t produced any acceptable result – Charlotte hadn’t had the same opportunity due to lack of money at the time, but Lucy had had it all and, like everything she’d been offered, she’d thrown everything out of the window, ungrateful girl.

Her sister was narrowing her eyes, trying to read and make out words from the letters she barely recognized, then, with a sorrowful sigh, she put down the paper and leaned back on the chair. “Three months already.” She whispered, her eyes lost somewhere as her jaw continued on chewing.

Charlotte froze at those words: three months since her mother was hanged, three months since her mother was released in secret and sent to the colonies, three months since she was in the grip of those load sharks, three months since Isabella had gone away. And Lucy made it sound like time had gone by in a blink.

“Felt like three years.” Charlotte breathed out, the words heavy like rocks.  
Add insult to the injury of the loss of Isabella, she was about to meet the young Pincher to pay her weekly bill. Was it really worthy, just for a good word on her brothel? After the rumors of her house being haunted, the attacks, the threatens of Dame Death, the last thing they needed was a lack of culls. So yes, soon she would go to the park to meet the bastard and she would make sure he would enjoy every minute together – how much she hated her life, how much she hated being Charlotte Wells when her mind and heart were elsewhere.

“Don’t you like tupping him?” Lucy asked gleefully, with no harm intended, just for the sake to have a light-hearted discussion over breakfast.

It was a tradition for her, to joke and distract her sister, lately: she’d taken in as her oath. Charlotte was everything she had now, the closest thing to a mother for her, apart from Nancy, so she wanted her to be happy, despite all. However, she seemed not to have chosen the right time, since, no one was in the mood to laugh or keep their mind busy with matters of no importance, or maybe she’d just chosen the wrong topic.

“She’s doing what she had to do.” Murmured Nancy, throwing a warning glance over the girl.

Lucy felt the tension and immediately lowered her eyes. But it was too late.

Gulping down a spoonful of colorless porridge she’d just started to attack, Charlotte snapped.  
“I like the peace he offers.” She spat, her eyes aflame. “And I like the reviews that draw those stupid culls with heavy pockets that _you_ tup every night.”

A pregnant silence fell upon them and Lucy’s mood dropped immediately. She felt sorry and guilty, but only partly for she knew that she did not mean harm. Once, her old Charlotte would’ve laughed or answered back with another joke, but never to hurt as she’d just done.

“You don’t look like yourself lately.” Lucy murmured under her breath.

“Leave her be, Lucy.” Nancy’s voice sounded like the ultimate warning, so Lucy finally dropped the argument, crossed her arms and frowned like the offended child she was.

Charlotte mutedly thanked Nancy for taking her defenses. It seemed like she was the only one to understand what she was going through. And how could she not, when she’d spent a lifetime loving a woman who didn’t love her back and that now was far away from her reach, when she did she had to do to barely survive in such cruel world?

“No one enjoys weeping tarts, love.” Nancy said.

Charlotte lifted her head, immediately meeting the woman’s understanding smile. It was contagious. She laughed bitterly, straightening her back and taking a bigger bite off her bread: Nancy was right, like always. Nothing had ever come out by crying over spilled milk. Just like her Ma would do, she needed to fight and face with pride whatever fate was ahead, ready to grab everything she could in return.

“Sorry, Lucy.” She apologized. Bless her youth, her sister didn’t even guess half of her woes.

The blond one looked over her sister with the corner of her eyes and then, unable to resist more, she smiled at her. “Should we get busy then?” She asked with a colluding smirk.

Charlotte nodded. “Of course, Sprat. Same as everyday.”

Nancy watched the two girls as they rose up from their chairs to run to each other and hug. They joked and smiled and laughed about something she couldn’t hear, getting ready to take on the day and everything it might offer. She was proud of them both.

She waited for Lucy to be gone to step up and rushed over Charlotte, grabbing her by her arm and stop her in the narrow blue corridor just a moment before she could reach the cape.

“Be careful.” She advised, fighting with all her might the urge to follow her and spy on her from a distance, just in case she might need help.

Charlotte threw her a confident smile, same as Maggie when she was about to do something naughty just for the sake of it, though Charlotte wasn’t.

“Don’t worry, Nance.” She replied promptly.

The older woman was about to let her go when her glance dropped on her hands by chance. She frowned, holding her smaller and softer hand in her callous one, lifting it up to inspect her palm and reddened skin. “What’s this rash?”

Charlotte pulled back defensively, averting her eyes.  
She searched her cloak and slid on some white gloves which weren’t her sized, coming from Isabella’s drawer as a gift for her.

“No’thing” She hurriedly answered like it wasn’t important.

“You’re stressed out.” Decided Nancy with a sigh. “Charlotte, we’re fine. We have food and the girls aren’t starving anymore. Lucy was thinner than you, but now she was putting on some weight while you seem to disappear more into your body each day.” She paused, studying the anxious woman that was standing in front of her. She was the pallid shadow of Charlotte Wells now, but she couldn’t blame her too much. With Margaret gone, maybe forever, only she could know the suffering she was going through. She got closer to Charlotte and lowered her voice before speaking. “If it’s Lady Fitz you’re worried about, she’s safe.”

Charlotte weighed carefully her words. She sighed, shaking off every negative thought from her head, since she needed to be strong for the others, and desirable for the culls, though she would only satisfy one, the worst of them.

“You’re right.” She breathed out, her hand resting on her hips as she pondered. Isabella was in France, she had money and she was getting letters from her frequently; yes, she was out of her reach, yet Charlotte needed to rejoice because she was safe. She couldn’t afford to slouch in the house, feeling sorry for herself – none of the gals, nor her family needed that.

“If you fall ill, you won’t be useful to any of us, love.” Nancy said, speaking out loud her own thoughts. Sometimes Nancy had the peculiar ability to enter one’s head and make out things better than anyone. She always said the right thing, Nancy knew her better then Charlotte knew herself. “You’re the bawd of this house now. Rest, eat, get your strength back. Own this place and make your Ma proud.”

Charlotte’s heart constricted a bit when the woman’s voice cracked at the mention of her mother. She couldn’t help but smile, squeezing her hand for both support and comfort, which she both gave and received. “I will, Nance, I promise.”

“You better.” The older woman sniffed, tightening absent-mindedly her other hand on her rod as if she was ready to strike ideally the awful man about to tarnish her Charlotte’s body. “No go and come back soon.”

Charlotte smirked as she wore the cape and her best mask of happiness and frivolity on her face. “Don’t fret, Nance. I’ll be back _very_ soon.”

“Minx!” The other woman shouted as she laughed, the words echoing through Greek Street.  
Nancy sighed, feeling better now that she’d kept her promise of looking after Maggie’s little ones. Everything would be fine.

***

As she walked back to Greek Street, Charlotte felt positively spent. Not that the activity had strained her so, but rather her soul and guilt were weighing on her back more than a boulder. She knew she was doing just for her family, to keep them safe, and that cheating was in her blood, within her nature of harlot, and yet this time it felt different: Isabella was far and she didn’t know anything about it. Was she really there, waiting to come back, hoping that Charlotte Wells would stay true and faithful to her? Of course she was, pure, damned soul. Did she know everything? No, but would she forgive her? Would she understand her despair? Such was her torment. Charlotte wished for it only to be over soon – or eventually.

She stopped to catch her breath right before turning the corner that would take her to the house and covered her mouth to cough in her now filthy gloves, removing them right after. The air was really getting chilly, Pa was right. She would have to search for a good deal for coal soon.

She cleared her throat, eager to go back to the safety of her own house. She was used to hearing voices and waves of laughter – as well as other noises – coming from inside as she got near, so she didn’t pay much attention until she was actually inside. Pa wasn’t on the door and all the noise of hearty laughs and excited squeals came from the kitchen.

It was both reassuring and concerning to see them joyfully chatting together, though it only meant that no one was working. “What’s goin’ on in here?” She asked happily, not even caring to fake annoyance or disappointment by such childish behavior. What was the fret, anyway?

“Roses!” Chirped one of the new girls, detaching from the group of bodies all crammed around one side of the table. It was possible she’d never seen a flower from up close, but it was getting ridiculous: all that fuss for a bunch of roses?

“We never receive flowers.” Grunted Charlotte in reply. If it was that bastard having enough guts to send her flower, she had to admit he was most definitely a fool and that she was the greatest actress. If those were his, she would make a scented bonfire, later.

“No, we don’t.” Said Nancy softly, with her typical mysterious voice, taking her time to make herself comfortable by resting her feet on the table. She had the smirk of someone about to enjoy a show, something that had been long foreseen to which, perhaps, she’d already guessed the obvious ending. “We don’t get roses from culls.”

Charlotte frowned at that little wink she saw on her face.

“It’s just one rose, actually.” Chirped Fanny with a smile, shifting aside to let the mistress of the house take a look.

Immediately, Charlotte’s heart leaped at the sight of the lonely rose resting on the table, its scarlet petals soft and glimmering with dew, its thorns cut off from the stem, to which a thread of black lace was tied, bearing a folded piece of paper. She rushed to it and took everything in her hands, the faint scent tickling her nostrils with the sweetest memory.

“What does the card say?” Asked Lucy impatiently, stretching her neck as far as she could to satisfy her curiosity.

“Is it from Lady Fitz?” Wondered Nancy with a dim voice, trying to interpret the smile that was creeping out of Charlotte’s lips. She seemed to have fallen into a little world that was only hers, where everyone else didn’t exist, only memories and the greatest hope.

Charlotte barely nodded, breathing softly as her thumb touched the last word written on the paper with black ink by a graceful hand. Everything seemed brighter. It’d be alright now.  
“Yes. She’s back in London.”


	3. Chapter 3

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 3

It was astonishing to realize how much it seemed distant, now, her house from Greek Street, when any other day it would’ve taken less than ten minutes to reach Isabella’s white manor. During the time of their remoteness, she’d walked down the same path several times in the morning or when the sun was setting, while her mind would be completely wrapped around the memories that, for the time being, would have to remain memories. Why did her feet felt so heavy? Why did her breath keep cutting short every few steps and why did her heart start to thump of excitement at the thought of going to her? Her windows wouldn't be closed, someone would’ve answered at the door and she would walk in, welcomed by the unmistakable flowery scent coming from the fresh bouquets scattered around everywhere.

Charlotte stopped right in front of the door, staring at the wooden planks and knockers as if they were some foreign objects she’d never seen before. Her lips slightly parted, she let some cool air enter her throat as she strived to quench the fluttering sensation she felt within her belly; what a fool she was, quivering, full of expectations and wonder like any green girl.

She rubbed her gloved hands together, far from being accustomed to playing the part of the respectable lady. Charlotte had decided to wear her best dress, Isabella’s gloves smelling of lavender soap and the thin thread of black lace, the one that had arrived along with the rose, secured around her neck with a loose bow.

Everything looked like she remembered, the light of the early afternoon, pouring inside from the big windows, almost blinding as she followed one of the footmen into the parlor.

Charlotte was immediately struck by the sight waiting for her. Swathed in a dim, white halo, Isabella sat on the couch next to the window, one of her blue dresses on, gracefully propped on a pillow with a cup of tea in her hand. On the opposite side of the room, stood Sophia instead, sitting on a cushioned chair in front of an antique desk, surely a family heritage, scribbling on a paper with a white quill.

She basked in that vision, taking advantage of the passing moment in which she hadn't yet been seen and smiled, helplessly, when Isabella’s eyes rose and met her own. Either of them at loss of words, they both stared at each other; Charlotte reminded herself to breathe, lost as she was in the azure of her eyes, painfully realizing how much she’d missed those pearls piercing her very soul, ravenous, unrelenting, questioning.

“Good afternoon, Miss Wells.”

Charlotte smiled promptly, grateful to the girl who had been inattentive and naive enough to break that silence without a single thought – or maybe she resented her, for she’d entered the secrecy of that private little world without any notice. “Good afternoon Sophia.” She greeted, clearing her throat. “Milady.” Charlotte smirked as she bent her knees into a proper reverence. At least, her stay at Quigley’s had taught her something useful.

Isabella seemed to be unable to take her eyes off of her; she smiled, almost imperceptibly, and put down her teacup on the table, before standing up, still without getting closer to her guest.

Oh, how much would she pay to be able to go to her, there and then, hug Isabella to never let her go and whisper into her ear how much she’d missed her. How much it pained her to know that it was a shared desire which could not be satisfied.

Sophia, now fully turned on her chair and staring at them quite quizzically, put down her quill and stood up, mirroring her mother. “I’ll go back to my studies.” She announced, walking in a hurry toward the door. “À bientôt, maman.”

Blessed that girl and whatever uncomfortable feeling she might have had that made her leave the room.

“À bientôt, ma chérie.” Replied Isabella.

Charlotte closed her eyes for a little longer at the smooth harmony of her voice, letting the sound of it sinking into her. She turned slightly to be sure of Sophia’s departure and watched from over her own shoulder as the girl slid into the corridor; Charlotte frowned inquisitively when she saw the mischievous grin she addressed to the young footman as she went. Minxy girl, playing with fire – she would’ve been a lively harlot, even to pair with her sister; curse Margaret Wells and her genes, she was starting to think like Ma.

When she turned around again, Isabella was closer. She smirked, shamelessly imitating Sophia’s naughty expression when she felt her own body’s desire to get closer, pulled to her by some invisible thread. Charlotte had rushed to her in a blink without having thought of a way to greet her after the long wait and now - now she knew none was needed.

“I like you talking French.” She said, her voice husky as she walked to her until there was no more space between them. Isabella’s perfume entered her nostrils and awoke sweet memories, like colors splattered on a blank canvas, everything was getting shape and life and the untouchable became real.

“Do you?” Asked Isabella, her velvety voice crashing on the other’s lips like a warm wave on the shore. “Embasse moi.”

Charlotte stared, only guessing what she’d just said to her; since her brain couldn’t be of any help, she let the instinct and crave guide her.

After their breaths mingled, their mouths were the next ones to collide. A soft, quick, long lasted kiss, a little miracle born in the back of their minds, gestated for three months and now gloriously coming to life.

Too many eyes in the manor, though, too much light coming from the windows as London poured in from the streets. They had to break apart.

Isabella swallowed through a smile, her cheeks growing rosier under the light shade of rouge, almost having forgotten the wild beat of her heart for such forbidden and delicious act. How much she’d missed it, and Charlotte above all. None of the beauties she’d seen in France could compare with her.

They laid on the couch side by side, their eyes unable to break contact the entire time and their hands, though Charlotte’s were gloved, neither. At the bright light of the day, they needed to become queens of pretending, act like nothing but two fine ladies enjoying their tea in peace after a long time apart and nothing more. Would it last, this time?

Charlotte took a shaky breath, thinking that it would’ve been better to know now than to have her hopes hanging in wait, just to have them shatter later.

“Tell me you’re back for good.” She whispered barely above breath, her words sounding more like a plea than a question or a pretense.

Isabella smiled softly, squeezing her hands. “I came back as soon as I received the last letter from Bentlam.” She said reassuringly, her fingers shaking with a thrill in anticipation of the news’ upcoming delivery. “The doctors said that Harcourt is not improving. On the contrary, he seems to be claiming to be some sort of beast or an invincible Spartan.”

Charlotte stared, unsure whether to laugh at that or actually feel sorry for him. Isabella wasn’t giving her any hints despite his fate was nothing less than deserved for what he’d done during all those years of undeserved freedom.  
“Poor man.” The younger woman managed to utter, frowning in sympatry even if she wasn’t feeling anything for him.

Isabella remained silent for a moment. Yes, she was happy to be free of his grasp, she was happy to be independent now, having access to her rightful money whenever she pleased and she was gloating at the thought that, for once, she’d been quicker than him and fended first to protect herself, her family and Charlotte too. Harcourt was her brother, but he was paying for all his past deeds; indifference was the only thing he deserved, though it wasn’t always easy.

“Charlotte,” She said, her voice floating in the room light as a cloud. “I hope you’re doing better than the last time we saw each other.”

“We’re managing fine.” The other replied with a soft shrug of her shoulders. Charlotte watched the woman in front of her, her mysterious face, usually hard to read in full, was bearing the light shade of wonder. Perhaps she wanted so desperately to ask for something but didn’t know how. Memories brought her back in time, on the first time her lips touched the soft skin of her cheek after she’d asked if there was anything else that Isabella wanted from her. Just like the other time, Charlotte felt the need to spur her. “Why?” She asked with a diverted frown.

Isabella smiled with mirth, the mischievous, childlike grin of someone about to ask the unconventional. Charlotte was all ears: it was very rare for people to surprise her and yet Isabella, with her look and composure of the finest lady, always managed to make her dumb stuck whenever she clawed her way out of her own shell and showed Charlotte her true self.

“I wanted to ask you something,” She said tentatively, biting her lip.

Charlotte took a short breath, her hand quickly resting on her cheek and her thumb pushing softly on her chin, spurring her to keep going. “Ask me anything.” She whispered with a husky voice.

Isabella swallowed, struggling to keep herself focus and her thoughts in a straight line.  
“I wondered if you could stay.” She said, keeping her lips apart as if she wanted to absorb Charlotte’s breath, scent, everything she could. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, echoing through her temples, the fear of rejection clasping her very soul. “Live with me. You’ll be free to come and go as you please, of course, it’s just- that this house is dreadfully empty and scary at night.”

Charlotte dropped her eyes to her moving lips as she talked. Those sweet, sweet words she’d waited and dreamed of for an imaginable amount of time, were now being whispered inside her ears as a plea. The most marvelous of futures distant from her by a simple _yes_. And yet, her mind was clouded: there had been too many days of abstinence from her kisses, her fingers craved for her skin, her heart ached at the scent of her perfume and her stomach throbbed with painful anticipation for something that had been denied to her for too long – encounters, there had been many, unlucky fate, but no cull could compare with the feelings she had for Isabella. Everything changed when she was concerned.

“Are you afraid of the night?” She asked with a hoarse voice, to which Isabella strived to resist.

“My nightmares torment me. Harcourt still haunts me.” She confessed, struggling to punch back the dreadful memories of those nights, where she woke up in the wee hours, drenched in her own sweat, kicking at ghosts living only in her dreams, breathing hard as an imaginary weight pushed her down and compressed her chest. There had been times where it took her minutes to calm down on her own – how much she’d paid, back then, to have the comfort of Charlotte’s arm.

“You want me to ease your sleep?” She asked, helplessly turning that difficult admission into nothing less than an opportunity, a blessed distraction to exorcize the deeds of the monster into something beautiful. It had been her job, once, to ease minds, to persuade culls with her skills of seductress, but now she had no plan, no scheme in mind: it was just her heart talking and her deep desire to make everything good, to fix her damaged soul with the only thing she could offer and still owned of herself.

She moved her hand to brush the tip of her fingers along her neck, the soft fabric of the gloves tickling the tensed skin it found there and falling, further down, fingers splaying on her corseted hip, the pressure barely enough for Isabella to feel the faint presence of her hand there, despite the layers of her clothes.

“Please,” Isabella half-chocked. It wasn’t clear for neither of them whether it was a plea asking Charlotte to stop or go further or even something that escaped her lips with no particular meaning.

Charlotte leaned toward her, only briefly touching her mouth with her own, pulling away right after. It was a pleasure hearing Isabella squeal with disappointment as she teased her.

“You want me to live here as your companion?” She inquired. Did Isabella really come back from France bearing dare with her? Was she ready to face society like she’d been when she had to confess the bond she had with Sophia? How wonderful would it be to be seen outside for what they were, untouchable by the very nature of Isabella’s position in society. Her heart was already fluttering at the idea of finally giving her feelings their right to bloom, unchained.

And yet, Isabella’s intention, regrettably, didn’t meet her dreamy expectations. “No one must know.” She uttered, her voice labored as she still tried to focus.

Charlotte frowned, slightly parting from her to see if she could detect any sort of joke on her face. Her heart sunk when she couldn’t find any because Isabella was deadly serious. The only condition to have her living in her own house was to have their relation secret – and what was the difference in what they had before? The thought of owning her, claiming Charlotte as hers? Deep down, Isabella was no different from any jealous keeper, then.

“So in the eyes of the world, I’m to be your maid?” Charlotte asked, her voice quivering with newly born anger. “Or your pet?”

Isabella sighed. She could only half comprehend her mistake since Charlotte had told her about deals and contracts and ownerships, and yet, Isabella felt like she owed her nothing but honesty, right from the beginning.   
“A friend.” She whispered back firmly.

A friend to the eyes of the world, while in their own, private one, they could be whatever they like: companions, devoted confidants, lovers.  
Charlotte was glad that her wrath couldn’t last longer when Isabella was involved. The woman had the irritating power over her which made her able to extinguish every flame of anger within her, with just a glance or a smile, or the glow that was now glimmering in her hopeful eyes. “Who spends almost every night with you?” She asked, tilting her head. “Isn’t it even more suspicious?

Isabella was about to speak, but at loss of logic reply, she fell silent all of a sudden.

The lost expression that was now lingering on her beautiful face, sent pure mirth directly into Charlotte’s heart. “You havn’ thought ‘bout that, ay?” She said, shaking her head at such an endearing show of genuine innocence.

Isabella blushed deeply and, once again, she strived to provide a satisfactory or unarguable answer. “I can not ruin Sophia’s life.”

Charlotte scoffed, helplessly. Again, that girl, though blameless, was partially ruining her plans of freedom, living the perfect life at Isabella’s side. What was difficult to accept, however, was the possibility of renouncing to all of that for nothing. “She’s already ruining it by herself.” She mumbled under her breath, unimpressed.

Isabella frowned. “What do you mean?”

The other woman flinched, suddenly coming back to her senses and immediately regretting her own words. Perhaps she just saw kindness and interpreted as something else, perhaps was misjudging Sophia, or perhaps she was just alarming Isabella for no reason – maybe it was her duty to report her guess, for her eye was far more trained than hers, but still, it wasn’t yet her place.

“No’thing. It isn’ the right time.” Charlotte wished she’d never spoken. The heat of the moment gone, the happiness of having her near after so long almost faded into the stillness of their closeness. There was much to ask and talk about and so little time.

Isabella breathed her in for a moment. Her fair features, hardened by the harsh life she’d been living since she was a child, were not bearing the frivolousness she used to wear whenever she was around: Charlotte had now no mask, she wasn’t pretending to be happy or uncaring, in fact, she looked positively sad, like emptied from the spirited energy she had always owned.

Though she didn’t look desperate like the infamous night that had brought her apart for months, she still maintained that faint dark halo around her eye. As far as she knew, Charlotte wasn’t struggling anymore, she seemed healthier, but not completely at her full, so Isabella started to feel concerned for her. “Are you alright? You look tired.”

“I am.” Charlotte sighed heavily, managing to smile at her reassuringly. It wasn’t the reunion she dreamed of, not completely, but still, her heart felt full. “But don’t worry about me: I’ll be fine.” With deep sorrow, she glanced over the pendulum clock that was resting atop the mantel. Woe sinking into her, she tired with all her might to detach from Isabella and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Asked the woman, utterly puzzled but that sudden behavior.

“You have to forgive me.” She apologized, following the other’s movements closely as she rose up as well. “I came to you as soon as I received your gift but there are things I have to settle, still.” She declared with true regret.

“You need to go now?” Isabella wondered, with the pitch of displeasing in her subtle voice.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Work?”

“Like always.” Charlotte smirked, rising to the tips of her feet to offer her one last kiss before leaving. “Goodbye, Isabella.”

The woman stared for a while, her heart leaping at the sound of her own name swirling around Charlotte’s tongue and sliding through her red lips, the same she’d just tasted, the same she would have the privilege, perhaps, to taste a thousand times more.

She followed her through the corridor, escorting her to the frontal door to savor each moment she could still stay with her, but just a moment before breaking apart, for the time being, Isabella stopped dead. Her very eyes were shimmering with emotion at the sight that struck her dumb.

Charlotte watched her quizzically, a diverted smile creeping through her lips. “What?”

“You’re wearing my brooch.” Isabella stated, her voice sweet and soft like a feather.

Charlotte’s hand went absent-mindedly to her head, the tips of her gloved fingers brushing against the cold iron and the smoothness of the stones. She nodded and gave her a fond smile. Her mind traveled back in time in an instant, Isabella’s words echoing into her ears and heart like the most cherished treasure: their first night together, that payment that hadn’t been a payment but just a memento of her spell-breaking, the first time she looked at Charlotte as if she were fire, making her feel like she could do anything; with Isabella by her side, perhaps, she really could. “I always do. Makes me feel invincible.”

***

Charlotte walked into Soho feeling stronger than ever. She was on a mission, something she’d delayed for three months, something she couldn’t endure anymore and she was determined not to. She entered the tavern as if she owned the place.

People of all kinds were lurching on the tables, drunk or about to get drunk, with their cups stubbornly grasped into their stained fingers, glassy eyes latched hopelessly on the girls, too poorly dressed and with too many colors to be simple waitresses. At first, no one noticed her and Charlotte felt the crowded place closing in on her for a moment.

She had almost run from Isabella’s house, a short distance that had however strained her lungs and heart, which was beating furiously against the layers of her dress. Her hands felt incredibly cold behind her gloves and yet her temples and neck were flushed with bright pink. A day of contrast it had been and it wasn’t over yet.

As her eyes scanned everywhere, Charlotte strived to breathe slowly, fighting the burning in her throat that made her feel nauseous.

“Charlotte?”

“Emily Lacey.” Greeted the woman with a broad smile. She’d got the habit of calling Ma’s ex-best girl with her full name because Ma did so, thinking that it was positively ridiculous for a harlot to have such name – and poor Emily didn’t even make it up.

The blond girl, dressed in an orange dress that needed washing, was staring at her with a vacuous expression, thin lips parted, as her little brain, covered with those messy yellow hair that looked like hay straws, tried to comprehend the reason why Charlotte Wells was there with a gloating smile plastered on her face.

“What d’you want?” She asked with a quivering voice.

“A word.” Charlotte replied. “With you and your men, somewhere in private.”

Emily hesitated. She studied the woman in front of her, smiling and beaming despite her short breath and flushed skin that made her look like one of the poor things that Nancy used to save from the streets during winter. Charlotte actually moved something within her shrunken heart and she led the way toward the first floor and into Hal’s study.

The two brothers were arguing about something, but Emily – like usual – didn’t bother to barge in the room, Charlotte in tow. The two men broke instantly their discussion and avert their eyes to the new intruders.

Charlotte focused all her attention on Hal. Not only because he was the oldest, the one who took the decisions, but also because looking at the young Pincher, her stomach turned in disgust; she could almost feel his hands groping and his breath huffing next to her ear and the memory made her even sicker then she was already.

Hal walked slowly toward her, with a sleek smirk, he crossed his arms and sighed. “I hear your guardian angel is back.” He sneered, crooking his eyebrow, patronizing. “Do you feel stronger now?”

Charlotte mimicked his superior expression. “I Do.” She replied, her voice low and firm, surprisingly alluring. “Money moves this city, Mr. Pincher. Until yesterday, I had enough to survive, but now I have plenty at my disposal.”

Hal scoffed, letting out just a hint of laughter; as much as he regretted to admit, the Wells girl was full of surprises and resourceful, no matter how hard they struck, she managed to fall down on her feet, like the most skilled and fighter of cats. They had their time to gloat and now tables were fatally turning. “You’re not talking about real coins, are you?”

Charlotte allowed herself a smirk: at least she could talk with someone who was smart, for once, someone who knew how to make a deal. “No. About the people who own them.” She confirmed.

Then, she braced herself and looked Isaac in his eyes; his face had never looked so ridiculous with those shimmering grey eyes and mouth shut tight as a child kept away from his favorite toy. She walked slowly, swaying gently her hips as she closed the distance with her now formal lover.

Charlotte was a bit shorter than him, and yet now she felt taller. She got closer to him, stretched her neck as if she wanted to kiss him and once he’d let down all his guards, she rested her index finger on his forehead.

Hal and Emily stood in wait, unable to do anything else but stare.

Isaac had to cross his eyes to see the tip of her finger. Then, Charlotte’s enticing voice, the same that lured him into her sheets multiple times, tickle his ears; this time, however, it didn’t carry sumptuous worlds to melt his soul. “I could shoot you now, right between the eyes,” She murmured and at that, both Hal and Emily flinched, leaning forward, ready to jump in action but equally eager to hear the rest. “and Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam, heiress of Blayne, would testify that I was with her, playing cards.” She said, smiling, moving away from him. “And trust me, the word of a simple tavern owner in Soho and the one of a whore can’t compete with that.” She looked at Hal, then Emily, giving them a triumphant smirk.

“You come to my house and threaten my family!” Roared Hal between his teeth, but Charlotte didn’t even flinch.

She threw him a death glare and sighed. “Your brother threatened us first.”

“What do you want?” Barked Hal between his teeth.

“You leave us be. You won’t pester us and I won’t pester you.” She replied firmly, clearing her throat as she fought her heavy head. She blinked several times, filled up her lungs and tried not to let them know that she was almost struggling – the only thing she wanted now was the chill air of the streets and the softness of her bed. She would celebrate with a nice nap and give the girls the day off if they wanted.

“Don’t do this,” When she came back to herself, she realized she was staring right into Isaac’s desperate eyes. He didn’t look good honesty, but grey suited him – or at least served him right. “I loved you, Charlotte.” He whispered through his teeth.

The woman let out a peel of laughter. “Then you’re a fool!” She retorted, once again surprised by her success as a charmer. How could men be so stupid in their longing? “You were paying me and you fell for my act. Don’t embarrass yourself, Mr. Pincher: you have no idea what love is.” She said, her voice completely emotionless. Charlotte then turned to Hal again. “Do I have your word?”

It was Emily that spoke first. “Why should he trust your word? You’re a whore too.”

Charlotte stared and breathed slowly. “There was a code once, between our kind. Make sure to honor that.”  
Those ill-fated girls that promised safety to one another in the cold of the night were their predecessors, their sisters not by blood; they had been in the same position, they’d known hunger and despair. They couldn’t lie to each other, they couldn’t betray another girl.

Emily stood silent.

At the lonely nod of the older Pincher brother, testifying her victory, Charlotte felt a hot wave of happiness running up her body.

She felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the heat spreading through her head, making her mouth dry and millions of flickering stars flashing in her eyes.

The walls of the small room closing on her, she tried to speak but could, and all she saw was black.


	4. Chapter 4

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 4

To anyone who might’ve seen them, they’d looked like a pair of friends who’d drunk too much: stumbling, swaying, clinging to one another as they dragged themselves in the streets. Yet neither of them had a single drop of alcohol in their veins, and instead of the face of someone ecstatic in the bliss of booze, one bore a worried expression while the other seemed about to fall asleep at any moment, her head dangling lifelessly as they moved.

Charlotte frowned each time Emily patted her side with her hand, shaking her every five steps with a high-pierced “oy” shouted in her ear.

Never in her life, she’d been drunk to the point of being unable to walk, so she was new to the sensation: everything moving and swirling around her in an endless spiral that made her head heavy and limbs soft. She only longed for her bed, now, her mind struggling to remember when she’d drank something that could’ve made her sick and then Isabella, her beautiful face when she’d told her that her nightmares would be over. Yes, the ending hadn’t been one of the most glorious ones in History, but she’d made the deal and Emily Lacey was already showing her loyalty by taking her home to her family. Charlotte knew that she couldn’t let her guard off, not even for an instant, but it was certainly a start.

When the brick building flashed before her eyes, between blinks, she tried with all she had to compose herself and, at least, walk straight for the few steps that divided them from home. Emily Lacey spurred her with a huff, clearly fatigued.

They both almost launched themselves on the door, Emily Lacey banging on the wood as loud as she could.

“Where have you been?” Her father’s low voice roared inside her ears. As she tried to blink and focus on the man, she could see that he was worried and angry. “Have you been drinking?”

Despite the sickness and the copper taste in her mouth, which came up to her unexpectedly, she scoffed and managed an ironic smirk. “I don’t have enough money for that, Pa.”

William sighed disapprovingly, but his face relaxed a bit. Since the corridor to the kitchen was narrow and Emily was already supporting his daughter, he led them both to the kitchen, where Nancy was, at the table, reviewing the bills from the registry. She slowly lifted her glance and took a look at the girl. “You look ravishing.” She joked, shaking her head.

Charlotte grimaced, detaching from Emily to grab herself a chair, but her hand missed it and she stumbled. Will caught her just in time and guided her, urging his daughter to sit down. Nancy’s previous smile had been drastically drained off her face.

“Where have you been?” He asked again, this time addressing the question to Emily.

“She was at mine, in the tavern.” She mumbled, her voice unstable as she feared William North’s wrath. Her effort to look superior ad unafraid, nonexisting. “Tried to convince Hal and Isaac to leave y’house alone, to pester someone else.”

“And?” Urged Will, his voice low and demanding.

“And she succeeded. Charlotte made Lady Fitz’s name, said she’d grant for ‘er and testify in front of the magistrate.” Replied Emily.

Nancy blinked in astonishment, unable to bottle her happiness up. Finally, she could return to live her life without worrying too much about Charlotte and her horrible lover who had claimed her body through blackmail. “Are we really free of those bastards?”

“Oy!” Protested Emily, crossing her arms. “It’s a truce, so let’s be civil al’right?”

“You talk about civility!” Snapped Nancy, tightening her jaw. “Who’s been playing dirty, now? What did you give her?”

“No’thing I swear!” She answered back with a shrilling voice. “We were talking, we reached a deal and out of the blue she passed out on me couch!” She explained. The fact that Charlotte didn’t protest or rectified any of that, only proved that Emily was speaking the truth. “Besides, I’m not interested in wars with ya, I know the Wells can be a pain in the ass.”

“Good.” Was the only thing that came out from Will’s mouth.

Emily sighed. Once, those had been her people, the one who cared for her and gave her food and protection – it was like paying them back, somehow. Seeing Charlotte like that pained her; after all, they almost grew up together and even she didn’t want to admit it, she was worried.

She stepped closer and took a good look at her. The Charlotte she once knew, the most desirable girl in Margaret Wells’ house, was now slouching on the table looking miserable. Her red lips were of a pallid pink, her flushed and full cheeks sunken and grey and the glow of her skin completely drained, as if there was something sucking out the very life of her from her body. It reminded her dear old Maggie, about ten years before.

“You’re sure you don’t have some dirty lil secret roaming around your womb?”

Called into question by some horrible implication, Charlotte found back a spark of energy and shot a death glare at the woman beside her. “Shut your hole, Emily Lacey, I’m not some stupid green girl!”

Emily flinched back, sighing heavily as she shook her head. “I was only guessin’.” She mumbled.

Nancy swallowed down a lump in her throat. She helplessly took a good look herself, half agreeing with Emily but without utter a single word on that regard. Still, it was a possibility they couldn’t afford to dismiss. “You don’t look well, Charlotte.” She whispered with a calming voice, praying that Mag’s oldest daughter would finally listen and be reasonable.

“I’m fine!” Charlotte spat, covering her face with her hands as everything continued to spin around her. “Now leave me be.”

Emily sighed again, pursing her lips and shrugging her shoulders. There wasn’t anything much she could do, now. “Well, I’ve done my good deed of the day. Goodbye.”

...  


As she laid down in her bed, tossing away the blankets and then blindly searching for them to cover her quivering body, she strived, with all her might, to cling to one of her best memory: Isabella. Now that she was back, it was the only bright thing that she could cherish in her miserable life. She imagined to touch her skin, to kiss her lips or to hold her and curl up to her side, seeking warmth from her body.

Charlotte was often cold. And tired. She had nightmares at night, the worst kind where people she loved died inexplicably, disappearing into a fog so thick that whenever she tried to breathe, she suffocated; during the day, instead, she slept for hours, laying there, unmoving, and more than once Lucy had barged into her room, jumped on her bed and shook her violently, cursing that damn influenza as soon as her sister, after several minutes, finally woke up.

She would cling to Isabella’s face, the only thing that could alleviate her weariness, the sickness pervading her body with its unmerciful grasp. Days and nights became one and those who come and went in and out of her room seemed to be one as well, hours becoming minutes in her delirium, seconds becoming years of solitude and forsaken.

And yet, as much as she wanted to focus on Isabella’s voice, so soft and sweet, she couldn’t hear her. She didn’t even know if she was there, by her side, or in the safety of her house, worrying about her – maybe she forgot about her? The thought made her cry hot tears. She clutched her damp cushion and buried her face in it, covering her ears when she finally heard some voices, strange sounds, unfamiliar and then of those who loved and sobs and grunts of anger. _Influenza_, they guessed, but others weren’t sure. Charlotte was positive to have kicked more than one doctor during one of those dreams where she couldn’t identify the reality because she didn’t want to be touched. Then the voices stopped.

Lucy had begged, during one of those rare moments where she was fully awake and able to have a proper talk, to keep fighting because she didn’t want to be alone. Stone-hearted, selfish child, thinking about her own well being even in such circumstances. Charlotte had smiled and pulled her into a quick hug to avoid, in case it was indeed influenza, to pass the disease to her.

The best cure for her was complete rest. And because of the fever and her woes and fears, she had trouble getting any. So Nancy and Will would often pour alcohol in her water – which she had to drink plenty to avert dehydration – and she would linger between the narrow border of awake and slumber for most of the time.

Colors and shapes mingled before her eyes, the fire in the mantel burning high, throwing hot waves of air into her direction at night, made her feel like she was inside some death trap. Sometimes she would scream, other she would lie still, hoping that the fire would catch her and turn her body to ashes, instantly, so she could float away, regain control over herself, and fly, carried away by the night chill, to Isabella’s house. Follow her siren song. Her face as the northen star, the only thing that still kept her sane.

How much she wished to hear her voice pulling her out from the waters that had swallowed her. How much she wanted to hear her Ma, telling her that everything would be fine, just like she was a child and had a fever? Or Will’s, or Nancy’s joking with her though she couldn’t always reply, betting they would win the next game of card they’d played once she’d recovered. Yet, out of all the people and all the voices, the one she kept hearing inside her head was the one that belonged to Emily Lacey – because, what if she was right?

Charlotte took a deep breath and blinked. Once, twice. She swallowed through her dry throat, frowning at the sudden pain. There was no one in the room and despite the curtains shielding the windows, white light was still pouring in.

She felt sore, in her spirit and in her body. She felt exhausted and hollow, both hungry and nauseous. A common cold couldn’t possibly last that long and real influenza, one of the worst kind like some of the doctors had whispered in secret, would’ve killed her way sooner.

Charlotte hadn’t been able to fully wrap her head at the thought until she heard little Kitty crying on top of her lungs, probably over something that in the adult world didn’t mean anything while in hers, was a catastrophe. And a tragedy was about to descend upon Charlotte too, fatal and merciless.

She couldn’t blame starvation anymore: they had food and a decent amount of peace. Despite the usual worries, topped with Isaac’s pretenses, she could say that their lives were back on tracks. No, she couldn’t blame her stress anymore either. It only meant that her body was failing her and, this time, in the worst of ways.

She braced herself and moved her heavy legs off the bed. She let them hang there for a solid minute as the room stopped spinning viciously around her. Blood started to flow to her toes and, carefully, she rested both feet on the cold floor.

She’d go to Emily Lacey. Fanny wasn’t certain of use. She remembered many times, when they were both younger, in which the girl had complained about cramps and cursed her laziness or neglect with the most graceless language, she remembered spying on her curiously, as she probed her abdomen with a disgusted face and then rested for a week or more in her bed before her mother would send her culls again. At first, her naive head couldn’t grasp the situation, but then, only a year later, when she’d joined the family business, everything had started to made sense. Just when she taught she’d got rid of the devil, it was back with a surprise, a proof of its wicked designs rooting deep in the life of the unlucky ones.

Grunting, she pushed herself up from the bed, leaning against the wall as she mentally cursed her weak and wobbly legs. The wardrobe and her dresses seemed so far away and out of reach, now – but she couldn’t roam around Greek Street in her sweaty nightgown, could she? The last thing she needed was pneumonia, that was sure, or someone caring enough to drag her to Bedlam on the spot. Perhaps it was bold of her to even believe she could get to the tavern on her own without passing for drunk or crazy or even a leper, which was the closest thing to reality anyway.

She leaned her head on the wall and sighed. If only one thing in her life could go smoothly.

“What are you doing on your feet?”

Charlotte flinched, looking around with her foggy sight to detect the source of the sound. There was clearly some displease in that female voice, surely driven by concern, but Charlotte had heard it as if the voice came from underwater, and the words had sounded distant and unfamiliar. She frowned, surprised that even her ears had not helped her, because any other day she would’ve recognized Nancy in a blink, without even taking a look at her unmistakable silhouette, defined so neatly by her long, dark clothes, rod and tricorne hat.

“I feel better.” She lied, swallowing again. Charlotte followed Nancy as she paced slowly to her, bending down a bit to look at her face.

“You don’t look better.” She decided. Charlotte was about to leave the safety of the wall to reply, but something inside her suddenly shut down and she felt herself drop to the ground. If Nancy hadn’t been near to support her, she would have fallen and, probably, hit her head – knock herself out, what a blessing. “Easy, love.” The older woman said with a soothing voice, her arms strong as she guided her back to the bed. “Rest.” A suggestion that sounded more like a command.

Charlotte looked around the room with cloudy eyes and heaved a sigh. “How long have I been here, exactly?”

“Almost two weeks since Emily Lacey brought you here.” Nancy replied wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. Those days had been dreadful, never passing, the hours marked but new worries and fears and dreadful thoughts about the future; it felt like it had been years.

“Two weeks?” Repeated Charlotte, wishing to have misheard that. Isabella must’ve been worried. Did she write? Did she pay any visit to them? No, how could she risk coming in Greek Street to enter the nest of illness and put and Sophia and her own life in danger? It wouldn’t have been wise. “I need to send a message to Lady Fitzwilliam’s house in St. James. I need to tell her-”

“What?” Nancy interrupted, rather harshly too. “That you’re fine? You’re not fine, Charlotte.” She lectured. “You want to ask her to come here? To what end?”

“She’ll think I’ve betrayed her.” She mumbled. It was not entirely false, sadly. “That I was only playing with her when I said those things.”

Nancy shook softly her head. “You can handle the hard truth far better than her. She’s a fragile creature, your Lady Fitz.” She scoffed, letting out a peal of small laughter to which Charlotte replied with a smile and a cough. “You two had plans, ay?”

“Yes, we had.” Sighed Charlotte, blinking at the ceiling. It was odd to see the wood there clouded, like some sort of strange unmoving dark sky above her head.

“Then cling to that, love.” Nancy suggested with a sweet voice that entered her heart; her fingers searching Charlotte’s to give her a reassuring squeeze. “You cling to that and we’ll get through this, some way.”

Charlotte wished she could believe those words. How could a woman like Nancy have so much hope in her? After she’d spent a whole life waiting for something that could never be, she had never lost hope, nor the love she cherished in her heart. She had never been a mother and yet Charlotte had always found comfort in her rather than in Margaret – of course, and how could she, since Lucy was Ma’s favorite? Dear old Mags would always choose her sister over Charlotte.

“Nance?” She called with a dim voice, her brain already running wild at the thought of naming and sharing her deepest fears. “You know what’s wrong with me, do you?”

“If you’d let the doctors visit you, you little hellish demon, we’d know for sure.” The woman retorted, wishing she could deliver that sentence with lightness but failing. She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “There’s only one thing that comes to mind, you foolish girl.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. So they shared the same horrible idea, the worst fate that could happen to a harlot when she hadn’t any keeper nor beloved. And yet, how could it be? There was still a little part of her that wanted to believe there was something else to it. “I don’t remember Fanny looking this dreadful.”

“But ya do remember your own Ma.” Retorted Nancy. Charlotte swallowed, trying to fish back those memories of her youth that she jealously treasured somewhere back in her head, not to be touched. “Every time had been different and I’ve witnessed all of ‘em. You were eight when Jacob was born, you must remember.”

“I remember visiting Ma in her bed.” She mumbled, pensive, more to herself as she spurred her own head to remember more.

“You and Lucy thought Mags was dying for about a year. Will was devastated by guilt. And after Jacob, she swore to never bear any more children.”

Yes, Charlotte remembered. Ungracious fate, punishing her in every way it could. If she could only talk to Amelia, asking why was God so mad at her in particular, sending her challenges every other day? And how could she deal with such a burden? It wasn’t something she could ignore and hope to pass – look where it got Fanny. She wasn’t ready, and she couldn’t do such thing to Isabella, ruin their future, their lives now that everything seemed so bright and ready to start. “When was the last time things went according to plan?”

Nancy smiled bitterly. “I don’t think there was a last time.”

She breathed and stared at the ceiling, that distant darkness slowly descending upon her, ready to swallow her body and carry her some forgotten place. “What should I do, Nance?”

“You’ve got a big heart, Charlotte. You know what to do.”

Charlotte sighed. She thought her head or heart would show her the right way, or her instinct, like Nancy said. Truth was, that she felt empty, and – _no_ – she did _not_ know what to do.

...  


“Lucy, come here and give me an answer already!” Charlotte yelled, despite her weakness and sore throat, to catch her sister’s attention when she ran past her room. Something was going on in the house, but no one would give her an answer. And where was Nancy? She would usually check on the first floor, early in the morning, making sure that everyone was fine.

Instead, someone had knocked on their door in the wee hours and, half asleep, she’d swear it could’ve been Emily Lacey – but she could be wrong. There had been talking, fussing, but before Charlotte could totally wake up from her slumber, the noises had died down and, surprisingly, Lucy had appeared on the door; or better, behind it, peeking in her room with just one eye, her mouth pressed on the wooden frame, her body quivering with something she couldn’t completely identify. Before she’d decided to ask, she’d fallen back asleep. Now she was awake and longing for answers. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Lucy blurted out, her voice shaking with exasperation. She stood still on the door like she was afraid to really enter the room and join her sister for fearing it could've been the last time. Stupid girl, it wasn’t something entirely unfixable, why did she have to be so negative and scared to death, all the time? It was because of her ineptitude that their mother was oversea, her soul stained with murder. And yet, she was the only thing Charlotte had left.

“What do you know?” She asked again, this time with a softer voice.

Lucy took a shaky breath, tentatively stepping closer. “Somebody knocked on our door and before I could go down, Nancy told me there was something that needed to be done and left! She told me to look over you and I did, but – I don’t know what’s going on and I’m scared.”

“You can’t be scared all the time, Lucy!” Charlotte scolded her, letting her head falling heavily on the pillow. “You need to be ready to fill in for me! Nancy can’t always be there to save our asses!”

“But I’m _not_ ready, Charlotte!” She retorted with a squeaky voice that prelude to a sob. Staring down at her older sister in bed, she couldn’t restrain her tears anymore. “I don’t want you to die!”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, even if beyond her lids. When she felt the bed wobbling due to the additional weight of Lucy, who had launched herself on it and found the perfect spot to curl up to her sister's side, she forced herself to blink her eyes back open and sigh. “I’m not going to die, Sprat.”

“You say so.” She sniffed, far from convinced. “Nobody wants to tell me anything and this morning Nancy flew in the dark with no explanation. I fear it’s something big, Charlotte.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” The woman sighed softly, thinking it could be healthier, for a moment, to focus on her sister’s distress than on her own worries. “Everything will be sorted out.” Charlotte said, squeezing her sister’s tight, without fear now that the influenza option had been almost totally discarded – if they were right, at least she wasn’t contagious. And maybe, who knows, if she kept repeating that to Lucy and herself, it might as well become true, like in those stories Margaret used to tell them as kids: fairies, wizards, angels would crawl from their homes carved in mushrooms or come down from the skies to help.

She was really starting to believe it, or was she dreaming that everything would’ve been fine when some more noises caught their attention. Lucy immediately propped herself up, her eyes promptly studying the door, waiting for it to be opened.

“Where have you been?” She cried out, even before Nancy barged into the room. Will few feet behind her, was standing in the darkness of the corridor, curled on himself, almost vanishing into his compiled silence.

“It’s the young Pincher,” Said Nancy with a labored voice, panting hard; by her face, Charlotte could only imagine the worst, but then, those blessed words: “he’s dead.”

Charlotte let out a surprised, unbelievably happy gasp. “So? Why those faces? It’s good news!” She said, her voice cracking.

But Nancy’s face wasn’t gleeful, Will’s eyes were the only thing that shimmered and when she turned to Lucy to have someone sharing her joy, her sister was staring dumbly at Nancy, waiting for more. If Charlotte thought that now everything was going in the right way, she had to change her mind double-quick. “He succumbed to the French pox, love.”


	5. Chapter 5

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 5

There was something about Greek Street that just didn’t feel right. Despite being the place of her ultimate awakening, where she’d spent many nights waiting to get back Sophia or to get back herself, despite being Charlotte’s home and where she’d felt safe, maybe for the first time in her life, Isabella didn’t belong there. There had been a time when she wanted to, desperately, but it wasn’t in her blood.

Was it because of the laughs or the smirks or the mischievous glares she gained each time someone spotted her, with her aristocratic up-do and ample dresses in a place of poverty and struggles? Was it because each time someone curtseyed her, even in the bawd house, she felt like someone was mocking her, or Charlotte, for her sympathies to the very class they despised and fought each day? Did they really feel like Charlotte was betraying them, consorting with the enemy? Truth was that she was not the enemy, that she was as miserable as them – ill-fated, unhappy, in searching for a better future that, apparently, somebody kept snatching from under her nose.

She put her hood up her head and kept her chin low, her heart thumping under her corset as the carriage slowed down and stopped in front of the brick house. Isabella waited before getting out, already regretting her decision: she’d told her daughter that she’d gone out for a stroll around the neighborhood and as the role had been reversed, she’d gone to Charlotte instead. But what if everything had been a charade? After her coming back home, Charlotte had come to her house, they promised a better future to one another, they’d dreamed together for a while, and then Charlotte had claimed to have things to settle first. It was more than two weeks ago.

Did she forget about her? Had she made fun of her, when Charlotte promised she would return? She’d read stories, heard stories, about harlots fooling members of society, taking their money to have a life on their own and make a fortune out of it.

Isabella couldn’t wait for more to have an answer; she could take the good and the bad ones too. Then again it was possible that something had happened.

She took a long breath and asked for the coachman to drive away not to catch too much attention – she would have sent out some girl to call him back when she needed to return home. It was better for everyone to keep a low profile, to the extent possible.

William North was already studying her arrival with his mysterious glare. Standing on the door, bold and with a serious face as his dark eyes scanned the neighborhood, he waited for Isabella to be in front of him to heave a meaningful sigh.

The woman tilted slightly her head and moved back her hood to let the man identify her – as if it was necessary to see her face to know who she was. Probably every soul in Greek Street was aware of the heiress of Blayne entering the bawd house in the plain light of day. “I’m here for Charlotte. It’s been weeks since I last heard from her.”

Will studied her worried features. It pained him to keep the truth from her when her heart and intentions were so pure and yet, he’d promised, he’d sworn to his daughter, as she begged him with foggy eyes, not to reveal the truth to Isabella. “It’s not convenient for you to be seen here, milady.” He said with a low voice, trying to send her away in the most polite way possible. It wasn’t fair for her to stay in the darkness, it was unfair not to be able to stay by Charlotte’s side in a moment like that and it wasn’t fair for her brain to be able to process all kinds of theories and scenarios where his daughter would come for a traitor or lacking heart.

Isabella shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her blue eyes flared inside the house, the blue corridor only dimly lit by some candles. That place was a chest for secrets of all sorts and she wondered if they were all keeping things from her too – were they covering Charlotte? She knew that most of the people there could be bought, their honor led only by the god money, but not him. If there was something that Charlotte had taught her about people, it was to focus on someone’s weakness and press there. “Mr. North? Can I have a word?”

William stared, trying once again to discourage her with his stern glare. But the frightened woman who once they sheltered in their home was gone forever, thanks to his daughter. Now Lady Isabella was a fighting, demanding creature who knew about them a little too much than he liked to admit. He wouldn’t deny her what she deserved, not now that she needed answers more than ever in her despair – and then, who knew that Charlotte wouldn’t need to see her as well, anything could happen and he wouldn’t forgive himself.

He nodded shyly, looking around as if was committing some crime as he led her inside and locked the door behind their backs. The house seemed awfully silent with the girls still getting ready and locked into their room, careful not to make any unnecessary noise; Lucy was in her sister’s room as always and Nancy god knew where she was, lately, always roaming around the city looking for cures and scientist willing to hear someone like her, even fortune-tellers familiar with herbs and unconventional remedies – every time to no end.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer.” Will grunted as he shifted around the table uncomfortably. There were skins in the bowls, towels, and patches of fabric scattered around everywhere next to food and plates. That place had been neglected a little too much after everything happened and he wasn’t proud of it.

Isabella ignored the question, her stomach turned with concern at her own thoughts, darker now that Charlotte was nowhere to be seen and the state of the house was unacceptable like everyone had better or more important things to mind. Was there another quarrel with Lydia she wasn’t aware of? Was there something big going on? Why everyone was trying to shy away from her, without giving her answers?

“I know something is going on here, Mr. North.” She said calmly, but her voice didn’t falter once. “I will respect her decision, but I need answers.” She swallowed and squeezed her eyes, heat rushing to her cheeks for what she was going to ask. “I know that it’s just work for her, but this silence – this silence is just torture.”

Will lowered his eyes, gripping the back of the chair with his hands, tightening his hold until his skin, and the nerves beneath it, started to spasm. He really felt for her, he wouldn’t be able to endure silence when she demanded answers. It was difficult to keep the secret, but most of all he didn’t want his daughter to become a traitor to Isabella’s eyes; it was easy to think bad things about harlots, he couldn’t even blame that woman to have ill-thoughts, but in this case, it wasn’t fair. Perhaps his daughter didn’t fully know what she was doing, but he had to respect that and support her, even and especially through the times of sorrows. “If you trust Charlotte, then it’s something you shouldn’t worry about.”

Isabella let out a small breath. “Then she does she hold a secret.” She murmured. A secret that kept her away all that time, without a single notice, a letter, a word from her sister or delivered by one of her girls. Perhaps a cull? She wouldn’t have kept it from her, it was work, it would’ve been stupid to fear her judgment and it wouldn’t cause such a fuss in the house.

“Wells women are not easy to love.” Whispered William under his breath.

“Yes, but keeping secrets is another matter.” She replied almost right away, but once she realized she’d just confessed her feelings in front of Charlotte’s father, she abruptly stopped talking. Will gave her the tiniest of smiles. “I could help her,” She added then, after a moment, with the only aim of breaking that awkward silence between them. “I’d like to know.”

“If she decided that you can’t help, then you can’t. Her mother was the same.” He said firmly, sharing however some sympathies for something he’d had to learn the hard way throughout the years. “They both have so much heart. If she can spare sorrows to you, she will, in every way possible – even to the cost of her own life.” Just like Margaret had, ready to hang to protect her younglings from a terrible fate.

Isabella listened and her embarrassment turned into deep concern. “Surely it cannot that bad.” She murmured, hardly containing a shy smile of encouragement – never before in her life she wanted to be reassured. “We can make things right, Mr. North, you just need to tell me what I need to do.”

Courage didn’t run only in his daughter’s veins, then. Charlotte was ready to face everything alone, but also that lady was prompt to sacrifice money and position, as well as everything a member of society held of value, to help her loved one. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He whispered under his breath. “You remember the way. Lucy’s with her.” He said with a nod and, before she could disappear into the dark corridor, he warned: “Don’t be too alarmed.”

...  


Lucy had got the habit to watch over her sister whenever she could. Even if she’d just been with a cull, she'd run to Charlotte’s room to lay on her bed next to her, gossiping and telling her in detail what was she missing – the good things as well as the bad ones. The girl sighed, looking sheepishly as she finished her latest story, yet another one that wouldn't receive any commentary. Charlotte often zoned off, her glassy eyes fixed on the windows, only imagining the life outside that kept on going, as London and the world, continuing spinning with no regard of her. Everything looked the same and as the day passed, she only felt closer to something uneventful like her disappearing from the earth – a cloud, waiting to dissipate in the wind.

When they hear the knock on the door, however, everything seemed to change. A sparkle had been lit in her small world of nothing.

Lucy caught her eyes, not understanding why her sister was shyly smiling now, just for that distant noise, and, more importantly, who was that? Lucy pulled herself up and frowning deeply at the closed door like she was a dog eyeing a cat, she prepared for whatever it might be: Pa, Nancy, one of the girls, the doctor coming to get Charlotte and take her away... “Yes?” She asked cautiously.

Surprisingly, the answer didn’t come from behind the door, but from Charlotte herself. “Off you go now, Sprat.”

Lucy turned to her, staring at her sister quizzically, her face rather funny with that clueless expression she had, that made her look like a child again. “What?”

“It’s Lady Isabella.” Charlotte explained.

“How do you know?”

“She’s the only person I know who knocks.”

The blond girl let out a condescending sigh, half glad that finally, the woman who Charlotte kept calling in her dreams had decided to show up spontaneously and half annoyed because she was about to rob some precious time with her sister.

She rolled lazily off the bed and stood up, barefoot, her slippers in hand. She didn’t bother to say anything before abruptly opening the door, making Isabella flinch in surprise. Lucy studied her for a moment, unsure whether to warn her about Charlotte, tell her what to expect, but just when her lips parted to speak, she fell silent, suddenly at a loss of words: what could she say to a person whose beloved was dying? Lucy was lucky not to have known real love, for now.

She threw an apologetic smile to the woman in front of her and slithered away in the darkness, sliding through the narrow space of her body – and dress – and corridor. Lucy hoped that neither Charlotte nor Lady Fitz had seen her tears.

Isabella stared, fearing gripping her stomach into its iron fist. Maybe Charlotte was indeed ill and for all that time she’d been unable to contact her, but to make cry her sister, it had to be something bad. She’d heard that the influenza was decimating people in the poorer quarters, and yet, somehow, the thought that it could also be one of them or someone she knew, had never entered her head.

She took a big breath and braced herself, pushing the door open, letting her eyes see properly everything that was inside the room: the curtains were drawn, and a candle stub was lighting up the room with a flickering glow that could only be a warning for the life inside of those walls – fragile, barely existing anymore. Isabella hardly suppressed a gasp when she finally saw the bed and the woman lying onto it.

Charlotte was lazily propped on a pile of pillows, her head heavily reclined on the top one as if her neck couldn’t support its weight anymore. Her lids were closed and her lips, once of bright pink as her cheeks, were now of a ghostly shade of grey, a narrow passage for rhythmic breaths, short and quick, similar to wheezes.

She forced herself to enter the room and close the door behind her back. Isabella couldn’t take another step, terrified by the sight of her still between those sheets.

Days, weeks without a word and now she had to face that. Not even in her worst nightmares, she could have imagined such a thing.

“You can come closer, you know.” Charlotte whispered and, despite her dry throat, and faltering voice, she sounded resolute and alert. “I’m not contagious. Not like this anyway.” She added with a hint of a smile.

Isabella had never been so scared before in her life. She had been frightened and lonely, but never like that. She was feeling guilty for all those times where she thought Charlotte had betrayed her or forgot about her, all those moments where she hated her, even for an instant, because she was feeling like a fool, waiting for a woman that would probably never come back. But Charlotte hadn’t betrayed her nor hadn’t forgotten about her.

Charlotte was ill, terribly so, or maybe just bearing the consequences of something that she had wanted to face by herself. Perhaps Dame Death had struck again.

Isabella shut her eyes tight, trying to make some order in the swirling mess of her thoughts and now, putting everything else aside, only one was her concern. “Are you alright?” She asked, almost without pondering on her own words, for the answer to that question was quite obvious and blatant to the eye.

Charlotte snorted, smiling helplessly when she saw Isabella biting down her lip in embarrassment. “Never been better.” She said, struggling to sit up straight and prove to her that she wasn’t weak as she appeared, after all.

Isabella let out a sigh, half relieved to see her awake and lucid. “Please tell me what’s going on.” She pleaded with a dim, yet demanding voice. She told that her disease wasn’t contagious, she looked miserable and yet she was not – not completely. Isabella could only think about one illness that could provoke similar symptoms, one that, sadly, she knew well since she was fourteen. If that was the case, which would explain her complete disappearance, she deserved to know, she deserved to hear it from her lips. “Don’t lie to me, Charlotte.”

Charlotte sighed. All her fears were becoming real: not only Isabella was there, few steps away from her bed, but she had put herself in danger just to find her. Perhaps disappearing from her life without any notice, hoping to keep Isabella safe and out from the harsh reality, hadn’t been her best idea. And then, of course, cheaters never prospers; maybe she’d found out about Isaac on the paper, the one that reported the death of a young tavern owner due to the pox in Greek Street, who was also a shark loan that could've very easily blackmailed Charlotte’s house – which, in fact, it was exactly what happened. Now, however, she was forced to confess her crime, her betrayal, her cheating while Isabella was away. She was the worst kind of wretched prick alive.

“We share a felonious secret.” Isabella spurred, her soft voice traveling light into the room. She slowly walked closer and dropped herself on the chair on which Nancy used to stay all night as she watched over Charlotte’s sleep. “Which is something that binds us more than wedlock. I deserve honesty.”

It was true. _She’s right_, Charlotte thought. The image of them being married, in some twisted way, made her heart thumping fast, for a moment. “It wasn’t a crime, you saved me.” She rectified, then, breathing in, she locked eyes with hers; it was time to let her know, tell her all the truth. “We’ve been through some desperate times.” She began, but after only those words, she realized that she couldn’t bear that look on her face. Isabella was sad because she had disappointed her. “Don’t look at me like that, I had no choice.” She hurriedly said.

Isabella tried so hard not to think of those images which, slowly, were taking form inside her head. A man threatening Charlotte, a vulnerable, desperate woman that had no other money but her own body – another person had touched her skin, another had kissed her lips, maybe, another had slept beside her in the darkness on the night. She thought she could handle that. Before, perhaps, but not now. Isabella felt her own stomach turn, wrapped by flames. Everything sounded so new and scary and yet, somehow, it all seemed so similar to the night that had started it all. The night she’d been freed from her brother and had entered her new life – a life, however, that couldn’t share with Charlotte as she’d wished. And then, without her, what was the meaning of it? “So it seems.” She mumbled dryly, under her breath. “Your favorite excuse to justify your behaviour.”

Charlotte let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe it was better for Isabella to hate her, but to think that she’d been cheated on? To think that she enjoyed sleeping with a man after everything they had? No, she couldn’t accept that. “You don’t know what’s been like.” She breathed out, her voice low. “Life has taught me to survive, do what you have to do. Forget your heart and mind only at your purse!” She shook her head, wheezing into her hand as she tried to catch her breath. She shouldn’t have felt guilty for doing her job. Damn Isabella for showing her the only thing that for a harlot shouldn’t exist.

When she opened back her eyes, Isabella was staring down at her with a blank expression. Charlotte wasn't sure if it was her, the one unable to detect her expression or she herself the one who didn’t know exactly how or what to feel. Her sad yet hopeful expression nearly broke her heart.

“I could’ve sent you more money.” She murmured.

Charlotte sighed again. “Don’t be ridiculous, you were already paying enough.” She’d been grateful, she had needed money, but now she could manage and, except for the safety of being under her name’s protection, she wouldn't profit on her generosity more than necessary. Charlotte lifted her head and looked into her eyes. “Besides, I had to handle that on my own.”

Surprisingly, Isabella smiled at those words and, with a little nod, she bit her lip with a knowing expression. “I was forgetting your pride.”

Charlotte mirrored her expression. “Don’t.”

There was a moment of quiet. Isabella didn’t know how many minutes she’d stayed there, lost in her little world, pondering on everything that could be, the plans they’d made, the awful things she though about Charlotte in one of those moments of weakness and doubt. She’d been suffering alone, fearing her judgment for all those weeks and then bend over backward to settle things right for them.

Once, Charlotte had told her that everybody could buy the body of a harlot, but only few could conquer her mind – and heart. “So, you’ve been laying with him.” She murmured, things to which Charlotte could not belie. Isabella felt the burning pangs of jealousy turning her stomach and, in return, her chest constricting with compassion. Perhaps it was some sort of divine punishment, the illness she was going through. To accept and smile through her pain, Charlotte must’ve thought so; and who more than Isabella could understand? When she was barely more than a child, Sophia had been the unholy creature that had ruined her life forever. She knew. Isabella had had no one, but there’s no need for History to repeat itself. “You know you can tell me everything, Charlotte.”

Charlotte stared dumbstruck. Of course, Isabella wasn’t naive as she liked to think and, blessed her soul, her first thought regarding her illness had been a so-called one, the same she had and feared with all her might when Death wasn’t lingering above her head yet. If a baby was the worst thing Isabella could think of, then she was indeed lucky.

Isabella probably didn’t even know real death; she’d never lived in those streets where people died in the cold winter, starved or ill without any help, she didn’t know real suffering, she didn’t even know what was like to stay with a dying person until he or she drew her last breath – she didn’t see a dear friend die of the same disease which was spreading through her own body. Charlotte had. Mary Cooper’s face would probably never leave her side until the day she died, which was not even so far anyway.

The horrible reality Isabella was picturing was still sweeter than the actual one. _Let her be, _Charlotte thought. It was better for Isabella to think that she was carrying life in her body, rather than death.

And yet, after minutes of staring into those blue eyes, she realized that Isabella would stick by her side, no matter what she’d tell her. And she wouldn’t allow her to become selfish: Isabella wasn’t alone, she had responsibilities, a prospect of a nice life with Sophia; Charlotte didn’t want her to see such a miserable death, she wouldn’t allow it, and luckily, with time, she would turn in nothing but a memory.

For Isabella’s sake, it was time to become a shameless liar. As a harlot, she was already destined to hell anyway, so why not stained her soul a little more, with just one lie that could protect the one she cared the most?

She stared at her with a blank expression then, faking some realization, she let out a diverted snort. “It’s not what you think it is, Isabella.”

Isabella felt her own cheek going aflame. She’d spent entire minutes fearing for her, trying to find the best solution to spare Charlotte what she’d been through and now she was told that nothing of that was true.

“It’s just influenza.” Charlotte lied, her voice incredibly firm, trained by hundreds night of whispered untruths into the ears of her culls.

Isabella frowned. After all, as far as she knew, it was rare to suffer that much for just a pregnancy, and then, if she was speaking the truth, there was hope: the disease that had claimed her body was curable; a part of her wanted so desperately to believe her, and yet there was something that wasn’t right with all of that. “Two weeks? You can’t stay ill for this long.”

Charlotte breathed it. She was right, of course, but now she couldn’t do much then to keep lying. She was just protecting her for the cruel truth – and then, she wasn’t really lying, because she was indeed ill, she was just omitting the real cause.

“Doctors are expensive, Isabella, and medicines too. We’ve done to impossible with what we had and now – now I just need time to recover.” She whispered, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She felt guilty to touch her fair, immaculate skin with her fingers, marked with thin sores. “I’ll be fine, I promise, it’ll be a lot easier to fight anything ‘cause now I have a purpose. A real one that I can see and touch. I just need you to trust me once more.”

Isabella squeezed her hand back. Of course, she trusted her, she would have clung to anything she said if her words brought hope with them. “What do you want me to do?” She asked, already thinking about sending the best doctors and the best way to force her to accept her help, even if, in the end, it wouldn’t be of any use.

“I want you to be safe.” Charlotte said with a sigh, her heart at ease because now she could talk sincerely. “This is not the place for you right now, go to Sophia now, she’ll be wondering where you are. I need you to be strong and untouchable.” Before Isabella could even try to reply, Charlotte leaned in more and cupped her cheek with her cold hand. Her face felt so warm and nice against her palm that, for a moment, she wished to stay like that forever – looking into her eyes and find a real home in that reflection. “I’ll send Lucy to your house, with letters for you, every day.” Charlotte tried again. “Deal?”

Isabella hesitated for a moment; she was battled: she wanted to stay there by her side, but it would be of no use if she’d fall ill as well. Perhaps she could start searching for the best doctors right away, once she got home.

_Yes_, she could do that: she would wait, again, forever if necessary. Because they would be happy, sooner or after, they just needed to hang on – she knew that, she’d studied, and a rough journey was the only way to reach true peace.   
After all, it didn’t matter, as long as they would be reunited again, at the end of the day.

Right now, they only had to cling to their greatest hope and keep on fighting. “I’ll be waiting for you at home, Charlotte. There’s a whole life ahead of us.”

Charlotte gave her a weary smile. She waited for Isabella to be gone to heave a sigh. “If only that were true.” She whispered in the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 6

Her fingers trembled on the quill as she traced Charlotte’s name on the bottom of the paper. The last letter addressed to Lady Fitz, which Lucy was currently opposing to deliver – _time wasted_, she thought – was full of other lies; like the previous one and the one before that. Nancy had written everything Charlotte had told her to: that she was getting better, that she was feeling stronger every day, some funny notes on the odd culls that visited them and also a few questions about Sophia, her school, her projects for the future to divert her attention.

Nancy had learned from the first ones and then she had taken the habit of carrying on with the lie, ever since Charlotte had drifted off into a tormented slumber to which she seemed to be unable to free herself from.

Those days after discovering the real illness spreading in her body had been scary, but she seemed to be recovering – one way or another. She spoke and cared about the world revolving around her, she had also found a sort of balance that let her coexist somewhat normally with the doomed fate lingering upon her.

Isabella had been a beacon of hope to her. Often they’d heard Charlotte calling her, but now she had fallen silent. Two days of her lying in her bed, unmoving, dreaming perhaps, hovering between the livings and the dead; some of the doctors had called her brief period of alertness the subtle passage that divided her from the great abyss, that once she’d fallen again in her sleep, she might never wake up again.

All was left to do was wait.   
It seemed so impossible. Nancy felt like she was on the edge of the cliff herself, the very ground crumbling apart under her boots: Charlotte going away on her own, disappearing before her eyes without any possibility of holding her back, her love distant fed with nothing but lies and Margaret, dear old Mags, was away as well, unaware of the world’s end.

Nancy had had enough of that. She knew what waiting was, she knew what staying away meant: as much as it’d pained her, she’d wished to be nowhere else than in Maggie’s cell as they wait for her hanging – through the good and the bad, as they say.

It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair, but carrying on by bringing more unfairness just wasn’t right; Isabella had the right to know and had the right to suffer by Charlotte’s side.

“What are you thinking, Nance?” Asked Will from the door. He was only halfway in, his eyes stubbornly locked somewhere far from the bed.

Nancy sighed heavily as she looked up at him, her fingers crumpling the paper between her hands, restlessly. “No’hing.” She mumbled with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Everything.” She corrected soon after.

“Tell me.” Will encouraged. Everybody felt so lost now that Margaret wasn’t there, and now Charlotte was about to leave them too. They’d tried everything but nothing had worked, any suggestion was welcomed.

“Well, she’s not improving.” She mumbled, putting down the quill and the paper on the table, harshly, making the glass of water hit the bottle on the table. The clinging noise echoed through the small room. “If anything she’s getting worse.”

“There’s nothing we can do anymore.” Whispered Will as if he was talking to himself, his voice low and steady.

“That’s not true, Will! And you know it!” Nancy snapped, pointing her finger at him. “We don’t surrender to fate, we don’t listen to other people especially doctors, hell – we don’t even listen to ourselves!” She scoffed, her lips curved into a bitter smile. “Don’t tell me you want to start now. Mags wouldn’t give up.” She sighed.

Will fall silent for a moment. His broad chest swelled up as he hold his breath in, only to release it a moment after; Nancy was right, but it was hard, so painfully that the easiest way was just to let life and death take their courses. And yet, what would Margaret say or think if she’d knew that he’d let their daughter go without trying everything they could? He would do anything for any of his children, even giving his life in exchange of theirs – he had to try, at least. There was still hope, maybe only just a sparkle, but he had to identify it and preserve it with everything he had. “She’ll never improve here.” He whispered sadly. “This house is cold, the walls are too thin. She needs quiet, warmth, and food to get her strength back.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “And don’t tell me you’re a fool, ‘cause you know better than me that if Charlotte falls, that Quigley bitch won’t hesitate to strike and we can’t have her here if we need to fight for another war – she needs another place.” She mumbled. “And we don’t suffice anymore.” She sighed and touched Charlotte’s arm with a ghostly stroke. “We’ll take her to Lady Fitz.” She concluded.

Will silently gasped. “Lady Fitz? She doesn’t know the truth, Nance.”

“She’ll want to know.”

Will looked at her sternly, then lowered his voice. “It can’t be the only solution! Remember, Nance: we promised. We promised that we would’ve kept Lady Fitz from the truth. It might be Charlotte’s dying wish and you don’t want to respect that?”

“Well, her death wish is a lousy one ‘cause she dug her own grave.” Nancy spat, her eyes watery. “She needs Lady Fitz to fight through this. Charlotte thought she could spare her a bad memory but she didn’t think about the consequences! Not only she denied herself the only thing that could pull her out of her unconsciousness, but it’s also selfish, in a way.” She whispered flashes of the last moments she shared with Margaret gripping her heart. They way she kissed her and held her, she’d never felt so close to death and never so alive and full of love in her life. Everyone had the right to feel the same. “If Lady Fitz isn’t able to say goodbye, she’ll have to live with herself; she’ll have to feel that kind remorse for the rest of her life, and the emptiness will be impossible to fill.” She paused, inhaling a shaky breath. “And imagine, Will, leaving this bitch of life without holding the hand of your love.”

Will listened and understood. They had nothing to lose and Charlotte deserved that, she deserved at least to leave looking into the eyes of the one she cared for the most. He nodded and, for the first time in days, he looked at his sleeping daughter and gave her a smile. “We’ll move under cover of the night.”

...

  
Isabella was lost in her thoughts, getting ready to go to bed when she heard a faint pitter-patter coming from the hallway. She frowned, taken aback by the sudden noise and slid into her robe to investigate herself; she tentatively reached for the handle and peeked outside, only to spot the slender shape of Amelia’s body half-hidden in the dark, as she tailed Violet who, clearly more prompt and alert, was heading downstairs.

Isabella had hired them both after hearing of their misfortune and complicated existence. Those girls were so much like herself and Charlotte, so save them from the streets had been incredibly easy. Then, of course, they were both hard-working people, dedicated and caring and to the smallest price of a room for Mrs. Scanwell – sweet Amelia’s mother –, Isabella was more than happy to provide them all with a home, food and a promising future. It was a great relief to surround herself with people who could really trust, whose loyalty was dictated by real gratitude and respect which, in this case, was mutual. Amelia and Violet had proved themselves way worthier than any of the trained maid or footman that had set foot into her house.

“What is happening?” Isabella asked, not even realizing she was whispering as if some sort of evil demon could come up from the night if she’d been too loud.

A flickering shadows cast on Amelia’s pallid face as she held the oil lamp from the middle of the flight of stairs, hanging it into the void as she tried to lighten up the hallway from a safe distance. “We heard banging, M’lady.” She answered with a frightened voice.

Sometimes Isabella wanted just to hug that quivering girl, always so scared of everything, even of her own shadows. She’d told Amelia hundreds of time to just call her Isabella, but she kept having none of it, thinking it would’ve been ungrateful not to show at least some respect to the woman who saved the lives of her family along with her own.

Isabella started to come down the stairs slowly as Violet, standing ahead of the front door, was waiting for instructions. Usually, she would be the one answering with no second thought, but it was late at night and the banging was an urgent one. What if some ill-intentioned man had come to take advantage of them? What if Dame Death had come to threaten them or to start a new feud? Policemen would’ve certainly announced themselves.

“Lady Fitzwilliam! Open up!”

Isabella exchanged a befuddled glance with the other two, silently asking who could it be. That shouting sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Nance?” Asked Violet suddenly, drawing herself as closer to the door as she could. She could identify that voice in a million – all those times she yelled at her culls as they begged to stop with her flagellation but secretly asking for more, how many times Violet had laughed as she laid in bed with Betsey fantasizing on Amelia while men screamed and argued with Nancy for her to provide more pleasure.

Isabella didn’t wait any longer before rushing down the stairs, Amelia in tow as she hurried down to lighten up the way for her. “Open, Violet.” She ordered with a soft, yet firm voice. The girl was right: that voice did belong to Nancy and the urgency only made her think of Charlotte, her heart constricting immediately in worry for her – did Nancy bring some news? Did she come to summon her because Charlotte was in trouble?

Violet obeyed, stepping aside to clear the view so the mistress of the house could talk directly with the unexpected guest. Isabella thought she could foresee pretty much anything that could be wrong, but she had to rethink fast as her optimistic hopes got shattered in an instant at the sight before her: Nancy wasn’t alone.

As she pulled down the arm of a slumping woman across her shoulders, Nancy was looking up at her with her blue eyes full of hope. She stumbled herself as she tried to walk closer to the door and Will, supporting the misfortunate girl on the other side, mirrored her expression, though his dark eyes shimmered in the night like small fireflies.

Isabella was about to ask for explanations, whether they needed a safe place to hide a lost soul or save another like them that went to meet a cruel fate – of course she would say yes – but as soon as her glance dropped inevitably to the poor girl, her heart lost a beat.   
Although chapped and parted, letting escape a faint wheeze instead of steady breathing, she spotted a familiar pair of lips under the hood that hid the most part of the woman’s face to the lady’s eyes.

Was she dreaming? Having one of her worst nightmares? She didn’t remember going to bed and yet the impossible was taking form right in front of her. How could it be, when Charlotte was supposed to be better and feel stronger and more herself each day? Had they been feeding her nothing but lies? Was she attacked suddenly, perhaps, and it couldn’t be prevented? And now, what would become of them?

“What happened?” Was the only thing she managed to mutter. Isabella felt almost disconnected from her brain, from her very body even, as she strived to comprehend what was going on or what was she supposed to do.

“Will you let us in?” Asked Nancy with a labored voice, without really answering.

“She can’t stay in the chill for too long.” Added Will with urgency.

Isabella shook her head slightly, tossing away her befuddled state of mind and the sudden numbness that took over her. “Come in. Hurry!” She urged, stepping aside so they could enter.

They managed to make few steps inside, barely enough for Violet to be able to close the door behind their backs so the eyes and ears of London would have to stay outside, before stumbling, swaying much more than they ever did before; suddenly, the dead weight that collapsed on Nancy’s shoulders was unbearable and her knees fatally gave in.

“Charlotte!” She protested, gritting her teeth to show her anger to the semi-conscious woman, as it could make some difference. “Don’t you dare dying on us, now!”

Isabella stared, unable to take any of it in. Her mind simply didn’t want to accept the reality unfolding right in front of her, too harsh, too hopeless, too devastating. She barely held a silent gasp when Will scooped her limp body up and Charlotte’s head, as lifeless, dangled beyond his arm. The hood covering her face fell off her hair and, for a moment, Isabella watched her features as if she was looking at a statue: beautiful, unreachable and cold dead. “Take her to my chambers.” She murmured, her own voice sounding distant to her ears. She gestured for Amelia to lead the way with her lamp and even if she felt detached from her own body and mind, she closed that cortège. Isabella felt lost and scared as she’d never been in her life.

They barged into her chambers and laid her weak body on the still intact bed. Isabella couldn’t help but think that this was the first time she’d let so many people in her private room. She studied Will and Nancy’s faces as they watched Charlotte in worry, their mouths parted as they tried to calm down their breathing.

It all seemed so surreal. What would become of them now? What was she supposed to do?

“Mother? What’s going on?”

Isabella flinched, her eyes immediately searching in the dark corridor just outside her room. Sophia was standing there, wrapped around in a blanket, barefoot, peeking in with sleepy eyes and a braid that rested on a shoulder. Perhaps if she told her she was just dreaming, the girl would’ve believed her and returned to her room with no second-guessing. “Go back to bed, Sophia! We’ll talk in the morning.”

“But-”

“Immediately!” She spat, leaving the girl no other choice but to obey. No, she couldn't deal with her own daughter, nor she’d time to answer the questions she was entitled to ask, not right now.

Isabella felt scared and angry, incredibly so: Charlotte’s dresses weren’t smeared in blood, her body hadn’t been assaulted by guns or blades and not one known illness could strike so hard and be so quick in taking one’s life – snakes weren’t common in London and the poison of a spider wouldn't work like that. They had been lying the whole time and Charlotte too. “What happened?” She wondered, her voice shaky and full of rage. Isabella demanded answers straightway: why wouldn't they let her help? Why wouldn't they let her try and save Charlotte from her illness in any way she could?

“It was her own doing.” Nancy murmured, her eyes never leaving Charlotte.

“She was feeling better!” Isabella protested. She felt like a fool for believing that everything would be good, that their future together was ahead and waiting for them. And if she was to believe the woman’s word, Charlotte was responsible for that. “Who signed those letters?” She questioned, her mind quickly wondering toward her bedside table, at the pile of letters she cherished in the drawer, tied with a red ribbon.

“I did.” Confessed Nancy without hesitation. “She asked me to.”

“She asked you to lie to me?” Isabella held her breath for a moment. Her world was crumbling down: the only person she thought she could trust, was just like any other.

“She just asked to hide the truth from you, hoping that-” Nancy’s voice died within her throat as she tried to find a good excuse to justify Charlotte’s behavior, but truth was that she did was she was told to avoid arguing with a weak girl facing her upcoming end. “well, I don’t know what she was hoping for. She was wrong to keep the truth from you but it was her decision and we tried to respect that.”

Isabella frowned, struggling hard to put all the information in order. “What changed? And what’s this hidden truth?”

“Unfortunately, nothing has changed.” Interjected Will with his gave voice. For a moment, only the fire crackling in the mantel could be heard. “But we prefer breaking a promise rather than to let her go without giving her all the chances she can have.”

“What is this secret?” Insisted Isabella, carefully switching her glance from Will to Nancy, hoping to crack one of them and let the truth pour out from one of their mouths.

“She’s got the pox.” Nancy murmured. Those words came fast and fatal like lighting into Isabella’s head and even she wanted to tell something – that it couldn’t possibly be true and that Charlotte was not going to die – her lips were sealed in horror. “Only a miracle can save her now and, well, you are it. Charlotte needs you – she’ll wake up only for you, now.”

“And she’s not safe at ours.” Added Will in a more practical way. It wasn’t necessary to name the cold, the filth nor the peril Quigley was to them in case another strong Wells would leave the command. Everybody was aware or could easily imagine the situation.

“Will y’care for her?” Asked Nancy, only slightly tilting her head toward the mistress of the house, her blue eyes sparkling in the dark full of hope. “Either way, Charlotte would be happy to slip away to the next world with you holdin’ her hand.”

  


Isabella had accepted. Of course she did, how could she live with herself, otherwise, knowing she’d abandoned the person who loved when she needed her the most?

Will and Nancy had scattered away in the night after saying goodbye to Charlotte. It was heartbreaking to listen to their farewells, in case something had gone terribly wrong, and Isabella, curled up in her vanity chair, trying to make herself disappear, had tried not to cry in front of them as Will kissed her forehead and Nancy sang silly nonsense she would say to a child while kissing the back of her knuckles.

In the wee hours, she asked Amelia to run a bath for Charlotte and, with her and Violet’s help, they laid her down in the tub filled with warm water.

She sponged Charlotte herself. She wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch her.   
She had been touched without her own consent enough in her life by people who didn’t care for her. Isabella wouldn’t let that happen again. She brushed over her skin sores with care to get rid of the sweat she was still covered in, and run her fingers through her once luscious curls to untangle them. Charlotte never protested once. It was like tending an oversized porcelain doll: soft, cold and extremely fragile.

Amelia helped to put her in one of her nightgowns and then dragged her into her bed. Charlotte looked incredibly small in that nest of pillows and linens they’d prepared for her to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Isabella stood by her side all night, putting rags dribbling with cold water on her head and neck, wondering if she was doing her any good for the fever of making her even colder since she was unceasingly shivering; blankets were no use and they would make her sweat, but the fire cracking in the mantel wasn’t enough to stop her trembles.

More than once, when she was sure to be alone, Isabella allowed herself to shed some tears before sitting on the edge of the bed and resuming with her desperate cares. How could life be so cruel with them? Why didn’t she go to her house in Greek Street sooner to offer her help? Why did Charlotte want to fight this on her own? They said through good and bad, so that was it: it was her job to stay by her side and Isabella felt blessed, in a way, to have the chance to pay her back for everything Charlotte had done for her family and for her, by giving her everything that was in her power to make her well again.

Never in her life she had felt so lost. Was that what it means to love someone so dearly? Suffer, as the heart shrunk in pain, feeling helpless and powerless when the other half of your soul lingers on the fine line between life and death? Was it worth it?

Isabella sighed, her eyes closed as she realized that, between her fingers, still laid Charlotte’s cold ones. She was holding her hand for so much time that those bony stones felt part of her own hand and not something that belonged to another – oh, what a fool she had been, abashed in her discretion ruled by society, to never dare and take the chance to admit her feelings.

Yes, she loved Charlotte. She loved her dearly, more than she’d loved anyone before – not even the love for Sophia could compete with that. She loved her enough to beg whichever God that could help them, to trade her own life for hers. But then again, if Charlotte loved her too, even if half as much, a life without the other had no meaning anymore. A merciful God would never part them not in life nor in death.

Isabella smiled at the flickering light of the candle, a bitter sense of nostalgia waving through her body as she carefully studied Charlotte while she slept, trapped into her dreamless and tormented rest, her face the white canvas for dim light and heavy shadows, just like the first night they spent together, when she broke the spell and set her free. They said that dying for love was the testimony of the purest of feelings. Full of gratitude for the incredible gift received – to find someone to love for life – Isabella realized that, yes, she was ready to live the rest of her days to Charlotte’s side, or die with her.

What a fool, to fantasize and hoping in a miracle that could save her. And yet, what if Nancy had been right? That she was the only one that could pull her out of her slumber? Maybe she was the one that could make the miracle happen by calling her name, confessing her feelings, turning the words into a spell break. There would be no harm in trying. “Charlotte,” She murmured, holding her breath as a part of her mind already hoped to see her waking. “I-”

“M’lady?” There was a knock at the door.

Isabella relaxed her shoulders and a long puff of air escaped her lips. If Charlotte was awake, she would have certainly complained about her harsh squeeze on her fingers. “Come in, Amelia.” She breathed out, hoping to have been heard because she didn’t long to repeat herself.

The girl opened slowly the door to enter Isabella’s private room and, for a moment, her big, languid eyes were the only thing that the woman could see sparkling in the dark. Slowly, Amelia walked in, carrying a pitcher of fresh water and the blanket that her mistress had required in hope to quench Charlotte’s shivers.

Amelia silently watched the woman lying in the bed and immediately a bittersweet smile crept out of her lips. It was frightening to think that the same person had been once of the fiercest woman she’d ever met, bold and born fighter – and now life was challenging her with the final strike. Yet her heart was with Isabella: the ones left behind are the ones that suffer the most. It pained her not to be of any comfort or help, except for dulls house duties or chores.

“You should take a rest, m’lady.” She murmured timidly, putting everything she was carrying in the right places and liven up the fire for her. When she finished, she straightened up her back and stared at her mistress. She looked pale and tired, her usually graceful and delicate features hardened by dark halos under her eyes and loosen hair. “Take some fresh air.” She suggested, whingeing up the thought of proposing to take her place at Charlotte’s side so she could have a break. If she needed to be practical, no one would use Lady Fitz in that state and if she’d chosen to let herself die, well, Amelia was obliged to tell her otherwise, or at least try. Isabella had responsibilities too, people who needed her, still. “Your daughter is worried, she’s been asking for you.”

Isabella frowned, suddenly becoming aware of the time passing. Did it, really? She instinctively looked at the window, but the curtains drawn shielded the outside from her eyes. She wondered silently whether was it day or night. “What time is it?”

Amelia smiled with sympathy. “Almost noon.”

Isabella sighed. She didn’t dare to ask of which day; time had seemed to had folded upon itself, making the hours never pass. It could be days since her family had brought her limp body to her home, or it could be a week – she didn’t know, nor want to know. “I can’t leave her side.” She didn’t want to tell the girl about her hopes for Charlotte’s full recovery. Somehow it felt oddly private. Distant. And surely too vulnerable, something that she could jinx with one word too many, that could disappear in thin air in any moment along with Charlotte’s breath.

Amelia tentatively moved closer to her mistress and, ever-so-lightly, she put her hand over her shoulder in a mere effort to give the woman her full support. They were all so different and yet, in a way, they were also equal – what if something like that would happen to Violet? Her own pain would be the same as the one that was tearing Isabella’s heart and soul now. And despite knowing she would act exactly the same, she felt the need of trying to ease her sorrows. “I’ll arrange a fine meal for you, milady. Charlotte wouldn’t want you to overstrain yourself – she withheld her secret so you could move on.”

Amelia bit her own lip. How could she say something so hypocrite? After all, if she were in Lady Fitz’s shoes, she would pin herself to Violet’s side, even to the cost of shift her feet into roots. She wouldn’t want to move on, because there was no use of moving on if the life ahead was a loveless one.

On the other hand, Isabella seemed to have completely neglected the girl’s words. Perhaps she knew it was something she was almost forced to say, given the circumstance. She drew a shaky breath and locked her eyes with Charlotte’s closed ones once again. “I don’t even know if she’s religious,” She whispered, furrowing her brows and tilting her head toward Amelia, as if she was seeking advice. “whether I should call for a priest or something. After all, I guess she’s in God’s hands now.”

Amelia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Aren’t we all, m’lady?” She questioned with a weary smile.

“You were raised as catholic.” Isabella asked, even if she already knew the answer. Sometimes, at night, she could hear Mrs. Scanwell reciting her prayers before going to sleep and so did Violet and Amelia.

“Yes, and my mother taught me to assist the needy.” Amelia murmured, offering a gentle squeeze on her shoulder to remind her own presence and closeness to the woman. “So here I am. There’s not much I can do for Charlotte, now, except looking after you on her behalf.”

Isabella mirrored her expression, returning a bittersweet smile that, somehow, concealed the tears about to pour from her eyes. Yes, it was something Charlotte would’ve asked Amelia. “I would give anything to see her awake and well, but we need a miracle for that.” She sighed, her heart constricting for a moment at the realization that, maybe, everything had happened was her own fault. Ever since she’d enter Charlotte’s life, everything had fallen apart – yes, she had Sophia now and she’d gained love, but at what cost? And what had become of it if Charlotte had to die? “I’m starting to think that it’s me who’s damned. Everything I touch turns to ashes.”

Amelia didn’t have to overthink an answer, this time. “On the contrary m’lady, you’re amongst the lucky ones.” She genuinely smiled when Isabella threw her a befuddled glance. “It is not possible to find lasting happiness without pain, not when sufferance is the only thing that makes sinners, holy. You need to have faith and you’ll be rewarded for these difficult hours.”

Isabella stared. It made sense, in a way. And yet, Amelia’s God would listen to them too? Even when they would have to be punished, instead of forgiven and helped? “So we do are sinners.”

“According to the Bible.” Murmured Amelia, aware of being blameful for the same guilt. “But a dear friend once told me that love cannot possibly be a sin.”

...  


Isabella didn’t even remember falling asleep. At first, she let her glance wander around her own room, looking so foreign now, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, as the candle was about to die.

She lifted her head, feeling dizzy and more tired than ever as she strived to recall the moments that lead her there. Isabella had dragged herself on her bed to hold Charlotte, helping her through one of her frequent shivering episodes with the warmth of her own body; the woman’s pallid skin was hot, sensitive, but her body relaxed and Isabella felt at ease – it helped, for a while, but then the fatigue had overcome her and she fell asleep by her side, still holding her close.

She wondered what time it was and then asked herself what on earth had awakened her. She immediately propped herself on her elbow, watching Charlotte as she stirred in her sleep. Isabella waited, her heart skipping a beat when she realized that she’d never been that active before that moment – she’d trembled, tossed her head and moaned as if she was trying to speak, but now her lips were moving and her legs as she bent her knees under the linens.

She thought she was dreaming at first, but then the miracle really happened: she watched in awe as Charlotte’s eyes flutter open, weak and fragile like the wings of a butterfly. “Charlotte?” She called distantly, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears.

Isabella didn’t want to let the moment go. What if she was imagining it all, the fatigue finally having its way, playing tricks with her mind? But then she heard her dim moan, the faint breathing escaping her mouth, the hoarse voice, trapped in her throat for days, finally finding its way out through the narrow passage of her chapped lips.

Charlotte frowned, stirred, clearly trying to acknowledge the place, her head spinning with incoherent thoughts. She didn’t realize she was in Isabella’s room, nor she was in her house – and she didn’t even recognize her face for a moment when the woman leaned in closer, Charlotte’s blurred sight still keeping her on the brink of falling back into her numbness.

Isabella cupped her face with her hands when she saw her getting frustrated and, perhaps, even scared. Her face was the portrait of confusion and it pained her to see her so lost. “You’re safe.” She whispered almost automatically and Charlotte immediately stilled.

Like a beacon in the night, Isabella’s touch and voice worked as the sweetest balm on her troubled soul and the only light that could lead her out of the darkness. Charlotte tried her best to focus on those two and, with a silent gasp and a blink, she stared into the eyes in front of her. She felt her heart skipping a beat and, without even thinking, she smiled at the woman.

“You’re awake.” Isabella murmured, repeating those words out loud so the thought would become a little more real. “Thank God you’re awake.”

“Isabella?” She said, testing her own voice. Even if Charlotte wasn’t yet truly aware of the time she'd been away, she wanted her name to be the first thing that escaped her lips.

Isabella gasped, her heart bursting with happiness and relief at the thought that, finally, everything would be fine. “Don’t talk – rest.” She rambled confusedly. “I must warn your family right away–” Isabella was surprised by how her weak hand, wrapped around her wrist, was sufficient to keep her still; perhaps she was the first one not wanting to leave her side. Was it right to bask in that miracle for a while more? When Charlotte was awake only for her?

“Wait.” Charlotte uttered, clearing her throat. It hurt, but she didn’t care. “I _need_ to say something to you.”

Isabella heaved a sigh, shifting closer to her so she wouldn’t have to raise her weary voice much. “What is it?” She asked barely above breathing, her thumb absent-mindedly brushing against the edge of her chin.

“I had the most beautiful dream.” She whispered, a faint smile bending her lips. “I was floating away and I was surprisingly happy and then – then I felt you pulling me back and I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to float anymore, ‘cause it wasn’t true happiness.” She sighed, her eyes blinking rapidly to get rid of the mist. She needed to see her face and she needed to do it clearly. “And I couldn’t stay there without telling you.”

Isabella frowned, wondering if she wasn’t just rambling. “Tell me what.” She whispered again, her heart dropping because she felt – and knew – that it was something important.

Charlotte had dreamed of that moment for a long time now. It wasn’t the scenario she envisaged, but she couldn’t wait for an instant more. “That I love you. Like for real, I love you.”

Isabella let out a sigh. She beamed and smiled at the distorted face of Charlotte she saw through the thin layer of water that had flooded into her eyes. “I love you too.”


	7. Chapter 7

fandom: Harlots  
warning: what if  
rating: T  
relationship: F/F (Isabella Fitzwilliam & Charlotte Wells)

For any updates, follow my blog on Tumblr:_ <https://mementomori-demimonde.tumblr.com/>  
_Isabella & Charlotte, "Damned" fanvideo here: <https://youtu.be/KG77_8G4BFY>

* * *

Chapter 7

Charlotte was getting stronger every day. She would eat more and rarely dozed off when the lights were out and even if she wanted to stay indoors most of the time to be able to spend a lot of time with Isabella, the doctor had ordered her to take fresh air on a regular basis. They started by taking her on the balcony that faced the gardens, so the noise of the streets would be distant and only recently Isabella had arranged quick strolls on the open carriage to make those hours at least more exciting.

Charlotte needed rest, and yet she yearned for something different. Her family had already come for lunch, several times now, but somehow none of them felt at ease with all those house rules Isabella didn’t want them to follow but they felt like they would have anyway; her sister had ended up oversharing information with Sophia, who had locked in her room to study and Nancy and Will had got themselves drunk because they’d decided to take a shot each time one of them would’ve said something inappropriate – of course it had been Lucy to raise the standard. So yes, they’d tried that to celebrate, but one time was enough and Charlotte wasn’t certainly eager to go back in Greek Street. Even if it had been a disastrous experience, however, she knew that everything would have been alright when, at the end of the night, Isabella had laughed heartedly until the moment she fell asleep.

Charlotte was fine with linger between the two extremities now, as long as everyone else was happy too. So now that the strong and vibrant emotion of a party had been experimented, was now the turn for a more relaxing activity. Unluckily for her, those things the riches did to entrain themselves, in a proper and gracious way, sometimes were terribly boring.

Isabella, for her part, looked after their daily stroll in the park before dinner. Despite being almost winter, they would go out in the open carriage and Charlotte often preferred her face to the view surrounding them. The colorful trees were much more beautiful reflecting into her eyes and her cheeks turned into a pretty bright pink whenever a gush of chill breeze would hit them unexpectedly. It was entertaining to see her beaming proudly at every one of the high society waving at them as they crossed path with their own carriages and then frowning with judging expression when they recognized Charlotte Wells snuggled by her side, sharing a blanket with the heiress of Blayne.

It was fun and slightly enjoyable only when they met somebody, however. For the rest of the trip, for Charlotte, it was a rather dull moment of her day, where she could be next to Isabella but pretending to just be her friend – no misleading touches, no loud declarations, but whispers and smiles when no one could see them.

She just had enough of that. Charlotte felt fairly strong, ready to take her life back and with it, all its pleasures and blessed privileges. Even if Isabella treated her like she was still made of porcelain, Charlotte was more than determined to show her that much had changed and they could finally move on, grasping that future and that life waiting for them.

She closed her eyes and reclined her head on the pillow behind her back. Isabella had made it put it there especially for her so she could be more comfortable and now, to the cost of sounding ungrateful, Charlotte only wanted it to be gone. She sighed frustratedly when the woman next to her just threw her nothing but a pacific, dreamy smile, clearly just happy with living the moment together.

Charlotte smiled back, unable to do otherwise, but her mind was already working on something to make that quiet carriage ride a little more enjoyable for the both of them.

Turning lazily her head to the side, as she pretended to focus her attention on the beauty of the gardens around them, the soft chirp of birds and the chaotic laughter of kids merging with the chatter of the adults, she unfolded her hands from her lap and, profiting from the safe barrier of the blanket which had been secured around both of their bodies, she travelled undisturbed from her own leg to Isabella’s. Charlotte reached out with tentative fingers, her movements soft but sure, like she was tracing over a well-known map for the way back home.

She gave a gentle squeeze on her knee, testing the smoothness of her elaborated dress, her fingertips touching velvet, lace, and pearls, which she let slid under her palm. Charlotte pursed her lips, her eyes only half-closed as she gently knead on the familiar flesh covered by yet another annoying, now redundant cloth. She sighed lightly and roamed around once more, back and forth, touching everything and remember every bit of her body: her tips fondled the roundness of her knee, the length of her thigh and then were ready to dive into the deep crease between-

“Charlotte!”

The woman swallowed hard, her hand stilling, for a moment, only to resume its roaming on the safer area of her thigh, protected by the layers of skirts. Charlotte turned her head over, facing the other with a blameless face – she wasn’t even sure whether Isabella wanted for her to stop or to continue, for her voice had trembled and it had broken almost immediately. “What?” She asked innocently. Since Isabella didn’t seem able to formulate a satisfying answer to that and her intention was uncertain, Charlotte had no other choice but to follow her own craving and decide for both: continuing. “No one will see my hand.” She justified.

Isabella widened her eyes in shock. It was rare, after all, she’d been through, to provoke such a scandalized expression on her face, but Charlotte considered it almost an accomplishment, so she beamed and without any notice, she let her hand trail up, her fingertips brushing intently where her legs joint and the hard edge of her corset constricted her ribcage.

Charlotte saw Isabella tightening her jaw, her eyelids fluttering without her having much control over them anymore as she strived to maintain a certain composure. “But they will see my face!” She retorted, tilting her head to her side.

Her blue eyes glimmered with a silent plea. It was true that her cheeks had become red; it was true that her lips had parted and her breath was already catching up.

After all, she could really give her a break and avoid greeting her next friend with a squeal or else. Charlotte smirked mischievously and slowly pulled away from her hand, only to reach for her own, holding in tightly as their fingers intertwined perfectly like pieces of a puzzle.

She gave a faint sigh and leaned into her, the tip of her nose almost touching the tensed, warm skin of her neck. Charlotte didn’t know what force could’ve kept her from kissing her there. She lowered her voice and brought her lips closer to her ear. “Tell the coachman to drive home then.” She murmured. “I’ve had enough fresh air for today.”

...  


The trip back home had never seemed so long. The rhythmic noise of hooves hitting the pavement as the carriage strolled down the unaware streets of London, Charlotte could only let her own mind travel forward in time, to the so longed waited moment of their ultimate reunion. She would have everything back, once again as it had been, as it should have been from the beginning if fate and misfortune hadn’t got in the way of their happiness.

Perhaps, however, her daydreaming activity had worked, for they arrived at Isabella’s house without her even noticing. They both practically flung themselves inside the door, eager to escape everyone and looking for the safety of the familiar walls.

“Lady Sophia won’t return before tonight, m’lady.” Announced Violet nonchalantly, even if the information hadn’t been requested. “I’m taking Amelia with me to buy more groceries.” She added again, smirking to herself for neither of them was willing to mind her much – or to mind the fact that fresh food supplies had arrived just yesterday.

Isabella and Charlotte got rid of their capes and, in haste, charmed by a non-existing spell that made them both feel like floating on air, they rushed upstairs, locking the door of Isabella’s chambers behind their backs – not that it was necessary with the empty house, but they could never be too careful after all they’d been through.

Charlotte leaned against the closed door, watching silently as Isabella fumbled with her jewels in front of the vanity. She caught each of her quick glances, smiling back whenever she could.

The woman got rid of her earrings, pearls and put everything neatly on the marble in front of her; she bowed her head and took a deep breath when she felt familiars arms around her waist, the warmth of another body pressed against her back and greedy fingers splaying across her corseted front, gently pulling her even closer.

Charlotte basked in the scent of her hair, the intoxicating perfume that lingered around her whenever they were close. She rested her lips on her neck, just below her ear and placed a soft peck there, smiling when the other shivered. She let Isabella turned around between her arms and locked her eyes on her pink, inviting mouth.

Feeling tentative hands running up her own neck, fingers dipping in the back of her hair, Charlotte took a deep breath, letting her lungs fill with as much air as they could store. “May I.. puis-je vous embasser, milady?”

Isabella smiled fondly at her. “You’re getting good with your French.” She praised, letting their breaths mingle for a moment.

“Yeah, well-” Charlotte replied, trailing off for a moment as she strived to formulate a meaningful phrase with her mouth so close to hers, so ready to be kissed. “At least I made something out of those tedious hours.”

“Did you get bored a great deal?” Isabella asked, her voice close to a growl which didn’t actually match the real meaning of those words.

“Don’t change the subject, now. What is your answer?”

Isabella lowered her glance on the parted, ripe lips of the other woman. The pallor had finally gone and the rippled skin had gotten back its velvety appearance; she wanted to taste them again, and after a brief sigh, she finally allowed herself to crush against the mouth she’d dreamed and yearned for so long.

Slowly, Charlotte parted her lips more, granting Isabella better access as their tongues touched and their bodies drew closer once again. Drunken fingers started to work on fabric, laces becoming undone and the corset giving in into a confusing mess of rustling and snapping, until they both stood in their petticoats, a pool of fine clothes discarded by their feet.

They walked in haste, eyes closed and their hands continued to blindly search until Charlotte’s fingertips grabbed the wooden head of the bed. She stopped dead, reluctantly parting from Isabella as she licked her own lips, moistened and pulsing with passion. The woman sat on the edge of the bed, one leg underneath her while the other dangled beyond the end of the mattress, her foot swaying impatiently back and forth; in one, swift movement, her hand found Isabella’s to guide her down as well.

Just when they found each other on the same level, Charlotte kissed a gentle path down the woman’s neck, her own passion enhanced by the genuine response she was getting. Soon, her hands started to tickle, eager to feel more of her body.

Charlotte moved her fingers smoothly on the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, and when she was sure to have Isabella conquered and bound to her mouth, she let her hand roam on her back, further down on her hip, brushing away the last layer of skirt that still covered the snowy skin underneath.

Isabella tensed almost immediately, but she herself wanted to compel to her own cravings. Yes, she’d held her tight at nights as they fought the cold and the fever shivers together, but it wasn’t quite the same: she wanted to have her body next to hers, feel everything she was currently provoking in Charlotte’s mind and heart. Squeezing the hand that still held the woman’s, she let the other reach out to touch her flushed neck and her fingers trailed down, cautiously and tentatively resting where her heart was.

Isabella closed her eyes when she noticed the fast beating of her heart and she beamed, proudly, as she realized how much her presence could affect Charlotte’s mood – and wasn’t it the same for her?

The lady of the house stilled almost completely, acutely aware of her body leaning up against Charlotte’s, their hands both searching and wishing for more to touch, more to feel, more to explore. A familiar territory that deliciously changed each time.

Charlotte’s hand continued to move up her thigh, exposing more inches of flesh with every stroke, slowly, with the only intent of driving the other mad, taking time before disappearing under the thin layer of fabric and reach her final destination. But she stilled, on her own part, her fingers basking into the relentless warmth of her body when she felt Isabella’s fingers moving around her own.

She’d been bold, in the past, as soon as she’d escaped her shell, but when Isabella was the one to make the first move, Charlotte’s mind took a welcomed detour from the present. As the upper part of her petticoat slid off her shoulders to pool untidily around her hips, Charlotte looked down at her own bare chest, following the other woman’s ministration with short breaths.

Isabella’s careful fingertips were moving lightly over her breast, circling the smooth, full curve before hovering just above the soft peak, like she’d done hundreds of times before, and yet so different. With maddening slow tickles, the sensitive flesh responded to the light touch almost immediately, perking under her palm.

Charlotte jerked uncontrollably when Isabella deprived her of the contact too soon for her likings, only to resumed another kind of exploration. She was feeling she was going to die, this time for real, this time she was really floating above the clouds.

Feeling without strength and yet full of fervor all at once, Charlotte assaulted her mouth once again and pressed her body against hers, urging her to give in and collapse to their side like a tree suddenly deprived of its roots.

They stood there for a long moment, or maybe just an instant, the coolness of the sheets a welcomed change against their hot skin.

Charlotte pulled her closer, kneading more intently at the flesh of her thigh so she could slide between her legs, finding the perfect spot that tasted and felt like home. Her hand continued its roaming, hungry for everything that had been denied for so long.

Her fingers didn’t waste time to find the warm juncture of her legs and when Charlotte felt the woman tensing within her hold, her body asking silently for more, she couldn’t do anything but to oblige; as she explored her deepest and more sensitive depths, Charlotte turned her head and, without thought, placed hot kisses against her jaw.

Isabella wasn't sure exactly what Charlotte was doing so lost in the drunken sensation of her fingers moving over her body, but she strived to do the same, anxious to create something more complete. She beamed to herself when she realized that the thought had been a brilliant one, for what she was feeling was utterly new and intense. If their love could be brought to another level, that was surely the way to do it.

With each press and each circle and each rub, the woman’s low moans got louder and more prolonged. Charlotte turned liquid right then and there at the sound and drew a shaky breath, unable to say or do anything else.

She kissed Isabella passionately, her heart pounding madly within her ribcage at the thought of Isabella’s well-known sensitiveness guiding her soon near the edge.

Charlotte bit gently down her bottom lip, and in the exact moment she felt her body stiff and jerk against her own will, she withdrew all at once: mouth, hand, she even pulled back and robbing Isabella of her nearness, leaving an unpleasant gap between their bodies.

She let out an elated sigh when Isabella growled frustratedly at the loss, the warmth, unreleased energy in her lower belly swirling almost painfully within her.

Isabella wasn’t sure she’d heard Charlotte talking for real or it had been just her imagination running wild, but when a distant whisper commanded her to close her eyes, she obliged and gladly fell into a dark limbo where the only thing she could do was feel, and, for a moment, she felt nothing.

Then, the rustling of the linens, the flutter of the mattress beneath her as it adjusted to their weights combined and soon all that remained was Charlotte sitting low on her hips. Tilting her head just a bit into the duvet, Isabella tried to use all of her other senses but her sight to figure out what were the woman’s intentions.

Charlotte smiled down at the lady, the very picture of her triggering tension in each of her muscles: with her long hair spilled around her head into a tangled mess of curls, and her fair skin shining in the candlelight, Isabella looked positively tantalizing. Her lips were parted, reddened and moistened by their kissing, the narrow passages of quick breaths coming hoarse from her throat.

Charlotte lowered herself down covering her expectant body with her own and sighed at the regained warmth of her body. Gripping her sides with her knees to enhance their binding, she began to kiss her fondly, her hips moving on their own to mirror the gentle motion of their lips combined. Soon, she found herself mingle breath with Isabella, sighs chasing moans and vice versa into an endless chant that stuffed deliciously her ears.

The friction between their bodies was idyllic and Charlotte rejoiced at the easiness of finding the right pace for Isabella quickly resumed her quickened breath and she herself felt her body close to its undone. They moved together, sliding, gripping, asking silently for more, velvet against velvet and greed against greed, their bodies seemed to seek for each other just like their souls, aiming for the ultimate connection and purest release.

When she felt Isabella’s hips tentatively rising to meet her own, Charlotte didn’t wait a second before searching blindly for her lips, placing a sloppy kiss there and looking for more.

Isabella could only answer and reciprocate, her mind was completely taken away by emotions. She didn’t know how much time it passed, she only felt her breath abruptly stop, cutting almost painfully within her throat as her world spun, reducing only to Charlotte, her fingers, her body gliding over her own, and her nails dug into the tender flesh of her shoulders.

Pressing her head down into the softness of the pillow, she kissed Charlotte soundly, the rhythmic motion of the woman on top of her pulling each wave from her body to something even more beautiful, fracturing the instant into other million pieces that she wished she could capture and living forever.

With Isabella coming undone beneath her, her fingers gripping on her body for dear life, Charlotte got lost into a swirling loop of shivers and delicious whispers coming from the woman’s released and she quickly followed.

In those blissful, perfect moments, their bodies and hearts could not have been closer. Isabella and Charlotte stopped being two; existing apart was no more. It was as if love filled them both and formed a whole. Finding the other half of their soul was one thing, but embracing the joy and beauty of that discovery was another matter.

They still moved together, gasping while their bodies slowed. Isabella’s long hair covered her neck and shoulders as Charlotte collapsed atop of her, legs still intertwined, breathing and kissing each other at the same time. There, looking back at Isabella, was the love of her life with one of the most beautiful soft smiles on her face. It was that smile and that look that told her that Charlotte’s heart was hers forever.

Neither of them spoke for long moments, overwhelmed and tired, until Charlotte unexpectedly cupped the other’s cheek with her hand, staring intensively into her blue eyes. She beamed, helplessly, biting her bottom lip amusedly when Isabella threw her a puzzled look. “Isabella.” She said, her head tilted to the side. It sounded almost like a warning.

“What.” The other smiled dreamily, one of her fingertips tracing the shape of her mouth, still moistened and red.

“Isabella, you can’t lie to me.” Charlotte beamed, utterly satisfied when the other struggled to hide a guilty expression. “There’s a dimple on your right cheek when you’re keeping a secret.”

Exposed, Isabella felt her face grow even hotter than it was already. Covering her cheek with her hand, but knowing it was already too late, she let out a peal of laughter, pulling Charlotte’s warm body even closer to hers. “Well, I wanted it to be a surprise.” She finally confessed with a mischievous smirk.

Charlotte put her ears to the hearing. She propped herself up, elbow digging between the linens and head leaned against the back of her head as her eyes roamed undisturbed on the flush that still lingered on Isabella’s neck down to the crease of her breasts. “Well?” She urged, curiosity having the best of her.

“There will be a party tonight, in your honour.” Isabella admitted with a dim voice, lowering her glance in fear of some rejection or complaint from her part. “You’ll be presented as my companion, I don’t care about anything else.”

Charlotte stared, unable to believe what she’d just heard. Memories of passed days came back, hitting her hard – if only she’d just said yes then, maybe things would have gone differently. Anyhow, they were alive and happy now and there was no reason why they shouldn’t try to live their future, only with a little delay. The woman smiled, sight becoming blurred at the thought that, finally, neither of them should’ve been ashamed of something or hide in the darkness to save their faces in the name of propriety.

Charlotte nodded and, heaving a relieved sigh, she kissed her again, softly, lovingly, sealing a promise neither of them had to put down in words.

That very night, they descended the stairs hand in hand and the crowd welcomed with whispers they soon had to quench in front of the unchangeable facts. The women smiled at their doubts, they laughed at their induced horror. Once, Isabella would have thought of that being the end of the world – but now, she couldn’t care less, for Charlotte was by her side, at her very arm, giving her strength and love back. She didn’t need anything else.

They proudly own that scandal, silencing society for days to come, in the hope of the whole world to hear about that; because they were among the luckiest ones and, for a change, people would envy those who once were miserable souls and sinners without love.

FIN


End file.
